Sinister Legacy
by Gold Dust Woman
Summary: A young police detective comes to terms with her troubled past, and learns of an even more troubling secret in the process...
1. Prologue

Hi all. This is not my first attempt at an SH fic by far, but it is the first one I've actually worked on persistently. Be forewarned that I am probably the world's biggest slacker when it comes to writing, so don't worry if I don't update often. I WILL finish this thing even if it kills me. 

Standard disclaimer thing: I do not claim to own Silent Hill, its related characters, subsidiaries, etc. Any characters you do not recognize belong to me. You can sue me if you feel so inclined but it won't get you much, aside from my boot up your ass, that is. :)

* * *

_Prologue_

_Silent Hill, 1985_

"Darling, I really wish you'd reconsider," Leonard Wolf's wife, Alexia, implored him. "She's just a child."

"Nonsense, the earlier the better," the gruff man replied. "I believe she was given to us for a reason. Surely God has a plan for her too."

Only a portion of this conversation was audible from Rachel's bedroom. She usually paid no mind when her Uncle Leonard and Aunt Alexia talked between themselves. She didn't understand half of it anyway.

"Rachel, time for lunch!" Her aunt's daily convocation never failed to bring the youngster scampering from her room to the open, airy kitchen of the family's spacious old farm house. The energetic 10-year-old with tangled brown hair and bright green eyes washed her hands at the kitchen sink, without having to be reminded for a change, and seated herself at her place at the kitchen table. She did not notice the furtive look passed between her guardians as they sat. She was too busy devouring the lunch her aunt had prepared; peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, sliced diagonally (just the way she liked it) and chocolate milk. The milk was the first to disappear; usually Aunt Alexia was quick to urge her to finish it all, but she did not do so today, instead busying herself with the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.

"So, I suppose you're looking forward to going back to school in a few more weeks?" Leonard asked as he sipped coffee.

"No." Rachel stated vehemently, shaking her head. "I don't like school. It's boring and dumb."

"Mmm..." Was Leonard's haphazard reply as he perused the editorials, incidentally the only portion of the newspaper not commandeered by his wife. "I felt the same when I was your age. I never learned what I wanted to learn. Not until later on, that is."

"Rachel, you've hardly touched your sandwich. Are you feeling all right?" Alexia did exaggerate a little; only half the sandwich remained, which the girl pushed around her plate like a kitchen sponge. It was only then that Rachel noticed she did feel quite lethargic all of a sudden. It took quite a bit of exertion just to take a bite of her sandwich, and her arms felt as though they were made of rubber. She shrugged it off and continued eating, not wanting to alarm her aunt, but to no avail.

"Rachel, sweetie, you look pale," Alexia said, placing a hand on the girl's now-sweaty forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Rachel nodded her head and thought she heard herself utter a response, but her hearing was suddenly garbled, as if she had water in her ears. A moment later a dull sensation of nausea set in, and just the smell of food made it worse.

"May I be excused please?" she thought she heard herself ask, and did so before receiving a reply. The walk down the long hallway to her room barely registered in her consciousness, but the sudden harsh shock of falling to the hardwood floor certainly did. A cry of agony from her own lips, as well as an oblique statement from her uncle followed her in her descent into unconsciousness:

"Go, my child. Find the Road to Paradise."

* * *

Some time later, Rachel awoke to find herself lying on the bathroom floor. Slowly the image of the toilet and the light blue fuzzy bath mat came into focus, and she shook her head as she raised herself up. She did not remember how or even when she ended up in here, eventually coming to the conclusion that she had fallen asleep in the bathroom for some reason. She got to her feet and headed for the door, only to find that it would not open. It was not locked.

"Uncle Leonard, I think the bathroom door's broken," she called.

No reply.

"Uncle Leonard? Aunt Alexia...?" Still no reply. The house was deathly quiet.

"Somebody help..." Rachel started to panic; she had never been fond of enclosed spaces. She shook the doorknob and pounded on the door with both fists, to no avail. Thinking quickly, she turned around and darted to the window, only to find that it too would not open. It appeared to have been nailed to the windowsill from the outside.

"Help me...!" Feeling herself starting to black out, Rachel turned to the sink and ran some cold water to splash on her face. She let the water run for a moment as she studied herself in the mirror, eventually looking down.

"Ah...!" She fell backwards into the wall at the sight of a thick red liquid that could only be blood flowing from the faucet. She closed her eyes and remained leaning against the wall for several moments, until she felt a strange movement against her back. She turned around slowly to find that the wall was crawling with huge insects.

"Get off me!" she screamed, slapping at the bugs as they skittered over her bare arms and legs. Some of them burrowed their way under her skin before she could swat them, and she felt them ravaging her body, feasting on her from the inside out. She stomped the bugs as they began swarming the floor and struggling in the refuse of the rapidly overflowing sink, but more seemed to appear out of nowhere to replace them. Desperate to get away from them, she leaped onto the toilet seat. She would soon discover that she was better off braving the insects.

"Wh...what's that...?" She stared dumbfounded as the toilet bowl she straddled was filled with a reddish-brown bubbling substance, from which a putrid bony hand emerged to latch onto her ankle.

"No! Let go of me! Help!" Rachel struggled against the remarkably strong grip, only to lose her balance and tumble halfway into the bathtub. She kicked and fought with waning strength until the rotting appendage finally surrendered, snapping at the wrist. The hand remained where it was, tightly gripping her ankle until she was certain her blood flow was being cut off. She remained lying in the tub, too weak to do much else. She almost relaxed, lying against the cool porcelain, until she turned her head. The rancid fluid that had filled the toilet was now gurgling its way out of the drain, filling the tub at an alarming rate. Before she could save herself, she was restrained by more ghastly hands that emerged from the fetid pool. She struggled but was promptly overpowered, and her screams stifled as she was submerged in the putrefied sludge. The substance filled her throat and lungs, effectively choking her. The faces of her beloved aunt and uncle were the last images to register in her mind before she was engulfed in blackness.


	2. You Can't Go Home Again

Just call me butter, 'cause I'm on a roll! Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

_Silent Hill, 2005_

"Goren...paging Detective Rachel Goren...hey Goren, wake up!"

Rachel opened her eyes to find herself at her desk, with her feet propped up. A half-smoked cigarette smouldered in the ashtray next to her feet.

"Shit." She bolted upright and grabbed it immediately, salvaging what little there was of it left to smoke. Her partner, Barry Albert, smirked at her from his place at her side.

"Rough night?"

"Well...no..." She ground out the spent cigarette and reached for another from the pack on her desk. "I was just thinking."

"Do you always snore when you're thinking?"

She flashed him a choice gesture as she stretched her arms. "Don't you have someone else you can go pester?"

"Well yeah, but you're my favorite." He smiled and dropped an envelope on her desk. "This came for you while you were over here, uh, brainstorming."

"Hmm..." She picked up the envelope. On the front, written in flawless script, was her full name: _Rachel Lynne Goren._

"Huh...well whoever it is knows how my middle name is spelled." She opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten note.

_My dearest Rachel,_

_You probably don't remember me, but I've been watching you. I know what you have overcome to get to where you are now, as well as the immense strength and resolve you have gained as a result. I also know that something is afoot in this town, something that will test every skill you have learned, as well as your sanity. But there is no doubt in my mind that you will be able to handle it, Rachel. As a matter of fact, I'm counting on it. I know that none of this makes sense to you at the moment, but give it time. In time you will come to know everything. At that time, we shall meet face to face. But until then, I will continue to watch you from afar. Don't let me down, Rachel._

"The hell...who left this, anyway?"

He shrugged. "It was just lying on the front desk. Sounds like someone's got a secret admirer."

"I'm sure someone does." Rachel rolled her eyes and tossed the letter to the desk. "That's a little creepy, but I've seen worse. I'm not too worried yet."

"You don't get worried until you find someone spying on you in the shower, right?"

"Well I'm already used to seeing your face outside my bathroom window, Barry." She chuckled at his mock injured expression, until the snipe-fest was interrupted by her ringing cell phone.

"Goren," Capt. McDaniel's voice assaulted her ear. "I need you guys down here in South Vale post-haste."

"South Vale..." Rachel muttered absent-mindedly. McDaniel kept talking to her, but she was lost in thought. South Vale, her old neighborhood. She hadn't returned there-at least not voluntarily-in nearly 15 years, though she wasn't quite sure why.

"What's up?" Barry asked, noticing her lost expression.

"I'll explain on the way," she answered hurriedly, motioning for him to follow her outside.

* * *

The house had not changed a bit in the past 15 years. Just the earthy, slightly musty smell of it was enough to bring Rachel's memories flooding back. For a moment she forgot that she was here to investigate a possible crime. For the time being she remembered long-lost summers, days spent riding her bike in the neighborhood, evenings spent catching fireflies on the front lawn, helping Aunt Alexia cook dinner, listening to Uncle Leonard's stories...

"Rachel..." Barry's voice cut into her daydreaming. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." She thought she heard herself answer.

"Are you gonna be okay with this?"

"Yes," she answered with more conviction. "I'm a professional. It's my job." She walked across the living room, her boots landing hollowly on the scuffed hardwood floor. Capt. McDaniel waited for her by the stairs.

"It's not a pretty picture, Rachel," he said, his expression grim from behind his dark glasses.

"I like a challenge." Rachel marched up the stairs, perfectly pokerfaced, but her resolve quickly disappeared when she entered the bathroom.

"Holy shit..." She mouthed the words, not wishing to alert the others. Alexia, her beautiful, gentle aunt, was slumped over in the bath, her nude body concealed from view by the blood-tainted water. Her white-blonde hair mingled with the crimson pool as her head flopped grotesquely to the side, exposing a bit of a nasty looking gash on the back of her head. A chill coursed down her spine as she stared, and for a split second she remembered that day; the day when it was her lying in that bath as it filled with bodily fluids...the day she too stared death in the eye. Unfortunately, unlike her, Alexia had been unable to look away.

"A neighbor heard what she thought was a scream from the house," McDaniel's voice entered her subconscious, bringing her back to reality. "Said she came in to find her like this, assuming she fell. I just happened to be driving by when she ran outside to flag me down."

"Hmm..." Rachel didn't dare utter a word; she could already feel her throat choking with emotion. The emotion was guilt. When she was young she couldn't wait to grow up, to start her life and be completely independent. In the process she forgot that her aunt and uncle would grow old one day. They would reach a point when they were no longer able to take care of themselves. If she had been here to help, maybe her aunt would not have taken a fatal fall...

That was when she noticed it.

"Huh..." She kneeled down to examine a towel lying crumpled on the floor next to the bath. It was completely soaked with bloody water, as was the floor.

"Check this out. Surely she didn't slosh _bloody _water all over the floor if she fell."

"Hey, yeah," Barry said as he moved to her side. "And look at this." He pointed to her neck, revealing linear bruises on the pale skin.

"Ligature marks...from the towel, maybe," McDaniel observed.

Rachel remained silent, her brain automatically recreating a crime as it always did, though this time she tried to stop it. No use; the scene played itself out in her mind like a movie. Her aunt entered the bathroom in her robe, having already drawn a warm bath. She had just taken off her robe and hung it on the door when she was suddenly struck from behind in the back of the head with extreme force. She tumbled face first into the bath, momentarily stunned, then surfaced in time to find the water being stained crimson with blood. Raising a hand to the back of her head, she felt a nasty gash. Before she could recover to turn around and face her attacker, she was attacked once again from behind, this time with a bath towel wrapped around her neck like a garrote. Too weak to fight back, she tried in vain to scream as the life was choked from her body. Just as she was starting to black out, she felt herself being hoisted, then dropped roughly into the water, her head striking the edge of the bath. She took the opportunity to scream before everything faded to black.

"Well Miss Psychic Detective? Do you have a scene to re-enact for us?" Barry asked.

Rachel nodded slowly. "Someone wanted my aunt dead. And I think I know who. The only question is why."

* * *

Two days passed. Finding herself unable to concentrate at work, Rachel reluctantly took a few of her vacation days-that was to say, Captain McDaniel insisted that she take some time off. In that period of time she went through three packs of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka-and she had never been much of a drinker to start with. She was engaged in this rare indulgence when she received a phone call late in the afternoon. 

"Hello, may I speak with Miss Rachel Goren please?" a soft-spoken female voice said.

"That depends, what d'you wanna sell to her?" Rachel asked before dissolving in a fit of tipsy giggles.

"I..." The woman hesitated. "Miss Goren, my name is Christy Iverson. I'm a nurse at Brookhaven Hospital."

"Brookhaven? The mental hospital?" Rachel sobered up rather quickly at this.

"Yes, I'm contacting you because you're listed as a family contact for one of our recent admitted patients, Leonard Wolf."

"Leonard...?" A chill coursed through her at the mention of her recently-widowed uncle.

"I wanted to touch base with you, since you're listed as his only living relation, and in the event of his release it might be necessary to do so into your custody."

"Okay, slow up a second there, Nurse Betty. When exactly did all this happen, and why am I just fucking learning it now?" She was not typically an angry drunk, but she felt that having both discovered and buried her murdered aunt in the course of the past three days was a good enough excuse to be a bitch.

"I...I'm sorry, Miss, but we have a strict confidentiality policy here. I cannot disclose any of Mr. Wolf's records to you."

"Well then why don't you do me a favor and bite me." With that, Rachel hung up the phone and collapsed backwards onto the sofa, clutching her head with both hands. Almost immediately she felt remorse for going off on a woman she didn't even know, who was just doing her job, but receiving such unexpected-not to mention suspicious-information after the stress she had been through had been more than enough to push her past her limit. She remained where she was for several moments, until a knock at the door forced her out of her funk.

"Barry..." she muttered as she peered through the peephole of her apartment's front door. He rarely visited unless he was seeking a drinking buddy, and even then he seemed more nervous around her than when they were at work. Usually she was fairly indifferent, but she was reluctant for anyone to see her in her current state. Nonetheless, she let him in, knowing he probably wouldn't leave her alone if she didn't.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," he said as he walked inside. He paused and looked around with an awed expression on his face. He acted as though he had never been in a woman's apartment before. She was a bit of a slob, as evidenced by the empty cigarette packs wedged in the sofa cushions and her laundry draped over the kitchen counter, but she really had nothing to hide.

"Eh, I'm alright, considering."

"With a little help from an old friend, I see." He eyed the empty vodka bottle on her coffee table, and she was slightly embarrassed.

"I'm not used to having all this free time," she said in a half-assed attempt to make an excuse for her binge drinking. Anybody in her position, no matter how strong they were normally, would do the same, she was convinced.

"This is probably a dumb question, but...is there anything I can do?"

She studied him curiously, and fought the urge to smile. He almost looked cute shifting from foot to foot and running a hand nervously through his slightly graying hair. It was hard to believe that someone who could be so meek at times was responsible for protecting her life, but she never doubted him for a second.

"No, I'm good...but thanks." She struggled for something else to say before the situation could turn awkward. "So, any leads yet?"

"Well...yes and no. The only other evidence of anyone besides Alexia being in that house was her husband. And...well..."

"He was recently committed. I just got a call about it."

"Right..." He hesitated, as if he intended to say something else but couldn't get the words out.

"What? Come on Barry, don't hold out on me."

"Well...okay, you remember during the investigation when you said, 'Someone wanted my aunt dead, and I think I know who'? What exactly did you mean then?"

She looked at him strangely. "I don't remember saying that..."

"Well you did say that. And your hunches are never wrong, you know."

A sudden twinge of anger flared up within her. "Wait...are you saying you think that my uncle...?"

"I hate to be the one to say it, Rachel." He was trembling at this point. "But we can't rule him out until we hear something from him, which might prove tricky because he was just committed to a mental hospital. I don't think I have to tell you of all people how suspicious that seems."

"My uncle would never kill anyone." Rachel said sharply. "The strain must've been too much for him. He and my aunt...were so close..." She clutched her head with both hands, her entire body quaking with barely checked emotions, until finally she sighed and ran a hand through her messy hair. "God, I don't need this shit..."

"Hey..." He took a step toward her and put both hands on her shoulders, a gesture that took her by surprise, but was not altogether unwelcome. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have brought that up now. This has to be tough for you. That's why I'm going to handle things while you take the time you need."

"But it's my job. I have to be able to handle things like this. I can't have other people having to do my work for me. I have to do this."

"But that's just it. You don't have to do it alone. And for what it's worth...I would help you even if it wasn't my job."

She reluctantly met his eyes, and drew a ragged breath. "Well...I guess the investigation will go on, whether I like it or not."

He smiled. "Well it'll be a lot easier when you're back with us. But not until you're ready, of course."

She stepped away and walked over to the patio door, reaching into her pocket for a cigarette en route. "I'll be back in a couple days. Believe me, I'm more than ready. This is boring as hell. I don't know how unemployed people do it." She looked down to search her pockets for a lighter when she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

"The hell...?" She bent down to pick up a piece of paper that had been slipped halfway under the sliding door. Not just a piece of paper; an envelope, addressed in the same manner as the one that had been mysteriously delivered to her at the station three days ago. Inside was another note.

_Dear Rachel,_

_I cannot even begin to imagine what you must be going through right now. I wish more than anything that I could be with you during this difficult time, but I'm afraid it is not yet time for us to meet. In the meantime, I'll offer you some advice you would be wise to accept. You must go and see him. I know it will be painful, but I also know how incredibly strong you are. And as absurd as it sounds, you must believe me when I say this will all make perfect sense to you very soon. One more thing...you must remember that I believe in you, Rachel. Always._

"Okay, this is getting fucking weird," Rachel said. "Somebody is fucking stalking me, Barry."

"Damn, Rachel, this could be more serious than you thought," he said. "Maybe it's not a good idea for you to be alone."

She rolled her eyes and blew smoke at the ceiling. "So what, you think I keep that around because it makes me look cool?" She nodded to her gun lying on the kitchen counter a few feet away. "I'll be fine, Barry."

"I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't implying anything. It's just...even the best of us let our guard down every now and then."

She shook her head, embarrassed once again at her outburst. "Don't worry about it. And don't worry about me either. I'm fine."

"Got it." He let out the breath he had been holding. "You know, they might be related. This case and those weird letters, you know? Maybe they'll help us out."

"Maybe." She stared vacantly at the note in her hand for a long time before carefully folding it up and placing it back in the envelope.

"So what're you gonna do? I mean, before you come back to work."

She paused thoughtfully, turning back to the window and the view it afforded of the post-rain fog that settled lazily at street level. "I'm going to Brookhaven tomorrow. To see my uncle...our prime suspect."


	3. Incarceration

At press time this is the latest completed chapter. I'm currently in the process of completing Chapter Three, so expect it soon.

Same disclaimer applies...still rated R for Rachel's potty mouth, as well as intense violence and sexual content in later chapters.

* * *

_Chapter Two_

_Brookhaven Hospital_

"Alright Detective Goren, he's ready to see you now." The white-clad nurse emerged from the reception office and approached Rachel, who waited on a bench near the entrance. Rachel was surprised at how nervous she felt. She did feel that way at times, especially when she was out of uniform. She could still look commanding dressed in all black, as she was now, but she had a feeling that a difficult situation in a place like this would have the potential to overwhelm even her. She rose to her feet and followed the nurse down the corridor. From the looks of things this area of the hospital did not house any patients; the doors were all plainly labelled: Pharmacy, Store Room, Visiting Room. Admittedly, she was surprised when they passed the visiting room.

"He refuses to leave the garden except for dinner and at night," the nurse explained as if she'd read her mind, and paused at a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. "Oh, and Detective...I'll need to hold your gun for you."

_"How did she know?" _Rachel thought to herself as she reached for the Beretta 85FS concealed at her ankle-her off-duty weapon of choice. Upon closer inspection, she noted that it was more conspicuous than usual through the tight pants she had chosen to wear that day. She handed over the weapon to the nurse, who then punched in a set of numbers on a keypad beside the door. A buzzer indicated their passage to enter, and they proceeded into another corridor, this one lined on one side with heavy steel doors. Haggard faces peered from tiny square windows in the doors, their hollow eyes watching the women's' every move as they proceeded down the corridor. The occasional strange moan or howl emanating from the rooms made the journey to the end of the hall particularly surreal.

"I only hope you have better luck with him than we have," the nurse said as they continued through more double doors, then down another short corridor to yet another set of doors. "He refuses to talk most of the time."

"Well...I was always his favorite niece," Rachel said in passing as she proceeded through the doors. A mostly neglected garden filled with suffering plants, weeds, and shambling, muttering mental patients greeted her on the other side. At the far end of the open area, she spotted a familiar figure seated on a stone bench, staring intently at an overwatered herb garden.

"Uncle Leonard...?"

He had aged terribly in the past 15 years. He looked closer to sixty than the fifty he actually was; his once-strong features etched with worry lines and his light brown hair lightly peppered with dull iron gray. Loose-fitting white pajamas hung limply from his frail-looking frame. His eyes, however, were the same piercing blue, seeming to speak a language all their own. It was obvious that he recognized her, but at the same time those icy orbs looked right through her.

"Well well, if it isn't Rachel Lynne." The corners of his mouth turned up in one of his rare smiles. "How on earth did you get out of class today, dear?"

"Uncle Leonard, I'm 30. I don't think I need a tardy slip when I've been out of school for twelve years." She chuckled a little, but her smile faded when she noticed his blissfully vacant expression as he studied her.

"Ah, yes...how the time flies. Tell me dear...do you still want to be an astronaut? That's all you've talked about since you were six." He spoke in a voice eerily devoid of inflection, turning his back to her and began tugging at some weeds that flourished amongst the rapidly rotting plants.

"Actually, I'm a cop." She had the unsettling feeling that her words fell upon deaf ears, and it seemed she was right, as he had no comment. She kept talking. "Uncle Leonard...are you okay? I mean..."

"Whatever do you mean my dear? I'm perfectly fine, as you can see."

"I know. I'm talking about...you know, what happened this week."

Still he said nothing. He didn't even appear to be listening to her now, choosing instead to busy himself with the plants, one in particular; a white-blossomed herb that seemed to flourish in the boggy soil. Puzzled, she pressed on.

"Um...okay, a question. There was something that the nurses weren't 100 percent clear on," she continued, and took a deep breath. "When, and how, did you end up in here?"

In an unexpected move he raised his head to her, startling her. He chuckled almost creepily.

"You always did have a bad memory, Rachel," he said. "I've been here for years. You just never come to visit me. Now how do you think that makes me feel?"

"I..." Her jaw dropped. For perhaps the first time in her life, she was completely speechless.

"Not even your aunt Alexia comes to visit me anymore. I miss her so...I even write her letters. But she never replies."

Rachel let out an audible gasp. In her seven years as a cop, she had seen many a criminal land in this place, and they all invariably pulled some sort of mind-fuck technique with the police, milking their predicament for all it was worth. Her uncle would never do such a thing; he was honest to a fault. Already her brain was concocting a possible series of events that led to his incarceration here. Perhaps whoever killed her aunt wanted to dispose of him in a less predictible fashion, and shift suspicion to a more likely suspect in the process. Unfortunately, the only person who would be most likely to have answers was not terribly talkative.

"I remember the last time we spoke," Leonard continued. "You were all she could talk about, Rachel. She really wants to see you again."

Rachel could only nod and fight back tears, as well as a nagging twitch tugging at the corner of her eye that came with suppressing the knee-jerk urge to tell her uncle about the murder. He had always been calm and rational, yet she could sense he became more and more fragile every day he spent isolated here. She did not want to risk upsetting him and creating a scene. The staff probably saw their fair share of those throughout the course of the day.

"I'm sorry I haven't come back to visit, Uncle Leonard," she replied lamely. "A lot of...complicated stuff has happened. I didn't want you guys to worry about me."

He dropped what he was doing, turning to face her. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and he reached out to take hold of her hand. His thumb roughly caressed a nasty scar that ran from between her thumb and forefinger to halfway up her forearm, an injury received in a scuffle with an armed suspect several years back.

"Promise me you'll take good care of her, Rachel. You're a cop, after all."

She sighed, swallowing back tears, but said nothing.

The awkward moment was interrupted when they were approached by a young nurse carrying a tray laden with pill bottles.

"Mr. Wolf, it's time for your medication." She did not acknowledge Rachel, save for a dirty look from out of the corner of her eye. Rachel couldn't help chuckling a little to herself, as she was reminded why she worked so much better with men. She maintained eye contact with her uncle even as a second nurse escorted her from the garden. His eyes continued to convey the same level of desperation and loneliness that had been evident in his words.

A few minutes later, she was sitting in the driver's seat of her old Cutlass, lighting a cigarette with one hand while the other clutched the steering wheel, despite the fact that she had yet to even turn on the engine. The back side of Brookhaven Hospital was visible from where she was in the parking lot, as was the high brick wall that enclosed the hospital's garden. The air of isolation and despair that permeated that place was still fresh in her mind. She was lost in thought on this when her ringing cell phone caught her attention.

"Hey Rach." It was almost comforting to hear Barry's voice. "How'd it go today?"

"Uh, well it...um..." Once again she was at a loss for words. "He's not really in a talking mood today. In fact, he acts like he doesn't even know that she...that my aunt is dead."

"Acts like? You mean you think he's faking it?"

"Who knows. They've got him all doped up on some shit. He's totally out of it. I need to get him out of here."

"Well I say go for it. Just try not to freak out the mental patients."

She laughed in spite of herself. "Got it. But in all seriousness, someone has to clear his name, since he can't do it himself. But there are still some things that I need to hear straight from his mouth. I just can't do it when he's like this. I don't know what to do."

"Well maybe you can go back and see him again tomorrow. Mental patients have good days and bad just like the rest of us. Maybe he'll be more cooperative then."

She sighed. "Maybe. But I really don't want to spend any more time in this place than I need to. It's creepy as hell."

"I could go with you. But only if you want to." His tone was so hopeful and optimistic that she didn't have the heart to turn him down.

"I guess, if you want to," she relented. "Just don't bother hitting on any nurses. From what I've seen of them they'd probably turn your groin to pudding. But knowing you you'd probably like that."

* * *

The following morning, Rachel found herself back at Brookhaven, this time with her over-caffeinated partner in tow. They sat in her car in the parking lot, indulging their respective vices before heading inside.

"Man, this place looks like a prison," Barry observed as he gulped coffee.

"You should see the inside," she sighed. "God, I just can't imagine what kind of sick fuck would want to land my uncle in a place like this."

"Let's find out," Barry said as he got out of the car. Rachel ground out the rest of her cigarette in the ashtray and reluctantly followed suit.

The two cops did not arouse suspicion when they entered the hospital, as their casual dress did not provide any hint as to their profession. Barry wore a plain white button-down shirt and jeans, while Rachel donned her usual black-on-black ensemble, albeit with a more casual touch than the one she wore yesterday; a plain t-shirt tucked into jeans that were just loose enough to conceal her trusty Beretta. She only hoped she wasn't recognized by any of the nurses she met the previous day.

"Hello there," a nurse greeted them, fortunately one that Rachel did not recognize. "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Goren. You're in luck today...we were able to get him to come inside. He's in the day room. Follow me."

"So now we're not only married, but I took your last name too?" Barry whispered as they followed the young woman down the corridor.

"Keep quiet or you're sleeping on the couch tonight," Rachel shot back as they were led to a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Beyond was a large room furnished with numerous long tables, where a handful of pajama-clad patients sat around playing board games and talking. Others milled about the room, while a small number of nurses and orderlies looked on. Rachel scanned the room until she spotted a familiar face at a table in the back.

"There he is," she said, pulling a suddenly reluctant Barry by the sleeve as they walked to where Leonard was sitting. He looked the same as the day before, dressed in worn and stained clothing and appearing completely engrossed in something other than the people surrounding him. Today it was a heated game of solitaire, which he pored over even as they stood beside him. Doubtfully Rachel addressed him.

"Uncle Leonard..."

Eventually the old man pried himself away from the card game long enough to cast a disdainful look in their direction. "Oh, it's you. What the hell do you want?"

Rachel was taken aback at the drastic change in his demeanor from yesterday, but she did not miss a beat. "Well, I was gonna ask if you were feeling any better today, but you just answered that question for me."

"Hmph." He hurriedly gathered the cards from the table, shuffling them quickly before dealing another game. "I was fine until you showed up, if you must know." He glanced in their direction again. "Who's that?"

"Oh...this is my partner Barry, Uncle Leonard."

"Partner...?"

"On the force."

"Mmm." He painstakingly placed the queen of hearts atop the king of clubs, then leaned back in his chair, anticipating his next move as if it were a high-stakes game of blackjack. "You mean you aren't fucking him too?"

"I...what?" Both detectives turned beet red at this unexpected statement, but only Rachel recovered. "Uncle Leonard, we work together. We're professionals."

Leonard scoffed at this. "Don't play dumb with me, Rachel Lynne. You know as well as I do that a man and a woman can't be 'just friends' or 'just co-workers'. There's always gotta be something more."

"That's not-"

"As a matter of fact, if I were a betting man I'd say you made detective by 'lying down on the job', if you get my drift."

"That's not true. Rachel would never do that." Barry was quick to come to her defense. Someone had to, as she was lost in thought. As hard as she had worked to put that memory behind her, she couldn't help being reminded of that time, and of her first boss. Capt. Tim Cavanaugh was not easy to win over; he all but expected her to fall flat on her face, as so many women had before her. But she defied all expectations and caught the eye of the discriminating captain...in more ways than one, it seemed. Everything changed that day, as they sat in his office and shared a drink after the shift. She expected it was just the whiskey talking when he kissed her, but that did not explain why she reciprocated the gesture. She was fully aware of what was happening, but it was still so surreal as they rabidly undressed each other and flung things from the desk in the heat of passion. She hated herself for liking it; the way he hungrily nipped at her neck, his hands exploring her body in earnest. And as soon as it started, it was over. She could still feel his eyes on her as she re-dressed. She never forgot his final words to her as he stood there in the corner, zipping up his pants: _"Nice boots. Make sure you polish them up proper."_

The very next day, she was promoted to detective.

"Of course she wouldn't. You have to say that now." Leonard's scathing tone stirred Rachel from her flashback. He then added, as if she wasn't even in the room, "I'll bet she's a screamer, isn't she?"

"I...I..." The middle-aged cop kept his eyes to the floor, his face a brilliant crimson.

"Don't listen to him, Barry," Rachel said, and turned to Leonard, grabbing him by the arm and trying desperately to maintain her composure. "Look Leonard, we're here to help. But my help isn't unconditional, so you need to ask yourself if you really want me to try to get you out of here."

"Get your filthy hands off me, you wretched little guttersnipe," Leonard snarled, shoving her away roughly. "And don't you condescend to me either. That's just like you, Rachel. You're the answer to a question no one asked."

The debacle soon drew the attention of the nurses on duty, and one of them rushed to the scene.

"Is there a problem here?"

"No, we were just..." Rachel started to explain, until she noticed the nurse was concerning herself more with Leonard, who was now sitting with his head on the table, buried in his arms. He refused to acknowledge her.

"Please stop...make them stop..." he whimpered.

"I think it's time for you folks to leave." The nurse promptly escorted them to the door. Rachel kept looking over her shoulder at Leonard even as she was being shoved out. His eyes met her, his stony gaze virtually unreadable even now. She was surprised-not to mention frightened-at the emotion roiling within her; pure, unadulterated rage. She was not supposed to think the things she was thinking, or feel the way she felt. He could not see her this way.

Within moments they were standing on the front steps of the hospital, both staring at the street as if they'd just seen a ghost.

"Well that went well, don't you think?" Barry said.

"Bite me." She stormed in the direction of the parking lot behind the building.

"Can I?"

She turned and gave him a look that typically froze the other men in the precinct in their tracks. Barry was no exception, but unlike the others, he always made an effort to find out what was bothering her.

"Hey..." He ran after her, struggling to keep up as they made tracks to her car. "We can talk about this if you need to. How about you let me take you to breakfast before we go into work?"

She considered. "Fine. But only because I'm hungry. I don't wanna talk..." She fumbled with her keys, and noticed something in the process; a plain white envelope tucked under her windshield wiper.

"Fuck...not this shit again." She grabbed it and opened the note tucked inside:

_Dear Rachel,_

_I know that things don't seem to be working out right now, but you're on the right track. The key lies in the hospital._

"'The key lies in the hospital'?" Rachel read aloud. "What the hell...this person's fucking nuts."

"Yeah...they touched your car. That means you'll have to crack their skull open."

She sighed as she unlocked the door. "I still can't believe you can remember every damn word that comes out of my mouth, and yet you can't remember to zip up your pants before you come out of the bathroom."


	4. The Unusual Suspects

_Chapter Three_

Rachel had not expected a hero's welcome when she returned to work the following day, especially considering that she had not done anything to deserve it. She hated to think her co-workers felt sorry for her; she never liked being fussed over to begin with, and she liked it even less when it was out of pity. She merely tolerated their ham-handed attempts at offering condolences, and secretly rolled her eyes at the sickeningly sweet smiles she received from whomever she happened to pass in the hall. All in all she handled it fairly well, at least until she overheard a conversation between Barry and McDaniel in the staff room.

"As long as he's there, it might not be a good idea for her to be on that case," McDaniel was saying as Rachel entered the room.

"It's not a good idea for me to be on what case?" she asked, startling him as she came up behind him. One of the benefits of being the only woman on the force was that she was never mistaken when she suspected someone was talking about her.

"Oh, Rachel," Barry blurted out. "Um...well, there was an...incident at Brookhaven early this morning."

"A murder?"

"For now we're just calling it a suspicious death," McDaniel explained. "Anyway, I am very much aware that you don't like for others to make decisions for you, Rachel, but I'm advising you to use your own discretion on whether you want to take this case or not. It could be a conflict of interests."

"Oh, that thing with my uncle. That was nothing. They've got him doped up on some shit...I'm not surprised that he acted that way, really."

Barry raised an eyebrow at this. "You're sure? I mean, we could leave it for the others..."

"No way." Already she was heading for the door. "Come on, I'm bored. I need a little action." As soon as she said this she caught herself, and turned around to see McDaniel suppressing a giggle, while Barry lowered his head and turned every shade of red imaginable. She shook her head.

"Perverts."

* * *

Rachel couldn't help smiling rawly to herself at the dirty looks she received from the receptionist as she and Barry entered the hospital. There was a certain self-loathing part of her that enjoyed antagonizing people, and it had been in full swing for the past few days.

"Good morning Christy," she peevishly greeted the taciturn blonde as they passed the reception window. Barry just shook his head.

"By my count, you've made at least one, uh, 'friend' at every single crime scene we've investigated," he said.

"What can I say? I'm a people person." She smirked inwardly as they met the coroner in the hall near the doctors' lounge.

"Well, looks like the gang's all here. Let's get this party started." Peter Seals, the town's medical examiner, approached the pair.

"Yeah, let's crack us open a nut."

Seals just shook his head. "Same old Rachel," he said as the trio stepped into the elevator around the corner.

A moment later they emerged in the morgue, an appropriately dingy room with gurneys lining either side. The majority of said gurneys held bodies covered with white sheets.

"Damn, people are just dying to get in here, aren't they?" Rachel said.

Seals smiled a little. "Usually they handle deaths internally. They only call us in when something looks suspicious...like our friend here." He led the detectives to one of the gurneys in the far corner. The bluish-purple feet of a corpse peeked out from under the sheet. A paper tag dangled from one of the big toes, labeled "#6". He pulled the sheet down to reveal the male victim's lifeless body. The fatal injury appeared to be a stab wound to the neck.

"According to the staff, he wasn't an admitted patient," Seals explained. "They found him in a poor mental state on the hospital grounds and decided to admit him temporarily for observation. They found him early this morning, holding a kitchen knife. I determined the time of death to be roughly 11 p.m. last night. They assumed it was a suicide, but they said that wound angle looked suspicious. It does to me too."

Rachel leaned in for a closer look. "Yeah. It goes downward at a sharp angle, like someone brought the knife down." She demonstrated the motion. "But you know, I have to wonder who would give a confused mental patient a knife to play with. I mean, I'm already under the impression that the staffers here aren't the swiftest chicks in the henhouse anyway, but still..."

"Right," Seals laughed. "Anyway, they said they got no corroboration from the patient residing in the same room, so they broke down and called us."

"What's the patient's name?" Barry asked. "Maybe we can talk to him."

"Guy's name is Stanley Coleman. They say he's usually pretty cooperative, so I guess it'd be worth a try. But," he added, "they say he's more willing to talk with women, so it might be a good idea for Rachel to talk to him alone."

"Hot damn..."

A few minutes later, Rachel was sitting in the visiting room with a relatively normal-looking patient. He had light-brown hair and a prominent eyebrow ridge that cast a shadow over his somewhat beady brown eyes. He appeared very calm, sipping water from a plastic cup as the detective studied him.

"Mr. Coleman," she began.

"Please, call me Stanley," the young man said. He eyed Rachel intently as he spoke.

"Okay then, Stanley. Do you know why you're here right now?"

"Yes," the man answered. "It was destiny. Fate intended for me to meet you."

"Uh..." She hesitated. "It did...?"

"Yes, it did." Stanley leaned forward, staring eerily into her eyes. "Tell me dear...what are you doing in this place all alone? Where is your husband?"

"Buried in my backyard," she replied nonchalantly, surprised that she could come up with an appropriate smart-ass remark under such circumstances.

"I see." He did not seem fazed, let alone amused. "What about a boyfriend?"

"He's buried next to my husband."

"Well, at the risk of sounding morbid, I find this most fascinating," Stanley said. "So then tell me, dear...why don't you have a man in your life?"

"Because I'm tired of fucking digging."

Stanley actually laughed this time, taking her by surprise. "It seems I wasn't mistaken. I always knew she would have a delightful sense of humor."

"Who?"

"The woman who would save me. The woman who would take me from this place."

"Um...okay." She took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Well, I'm not here for that today, I'm afraid. I just need to ask you a few questions about your roommate."

"Oh, him." Stanley waved a hand and crossed his legs casually. "Ghastly business, that. I know they think I had something to do with it, but I didn't, I assure you. I didn't hate him, though he was a liar."

"Tell me about it. Why was he a liar?"

"He...he said that no woman would ever want anything to do with me, that no one would ever come to rescue me from this place. But you're here, Rachel. You came for me. That's proof he didn't know what he was talking about." He gazed at her dreamily, and she fought the urge to cringe. She quickly diverted attention back to the subject at hand.

"So you two did argue occasionally?"

"Well he was only my roommate for a couple of days, but right away he started picking fights. I tried to just shrug it off, but he made it hard at times. He was very intent on offending me. I think that's why they put him in with me in the first place. Those idiot doctors don't give a damn about _my _feelings."

"Mm-hmm." Rachel took notes on a notepad, glancing up periodically at her increasingly creepy suspect. If he licked his lips one more time, she swore she was going to jam her pen in his eye socket. That was when she heard it.

"Help! Rachel, help!"

"Barry?" The scream sounded very close outside the room, and Rachel bolted from the table and ran out into the corridor. Sure enough, Barry was cowered in a corner of the hallway as one of the nurses converged on him, hands extended as if she intended to throttle him. Of course, Barry being Barry, this wouldn't look strange under normal circumstances, but there was something unusual about the way the woman moved. Then all of a sudden she lunged forward, grabbing Barry around the throat. Immediately Rachel reached for her gun; her primary weapon of choice, a Ruger P85. This would make anyone's day, but she never liked to have to use it.

"Put your hands up!" she shouted, but the nurse continued to strangle her victim. Rachel reached for her stun gun and charged at them, plowing the electrodes into the crazed nurse's neck. The woman let out a primal scream as her body was racked with convulsions, and swung her left arm around to backhand Rachel across the mouth with enough force to knock the cop flat on her back. Within seconds the nurse was on her, her hands latched around the detective's neck with almost superhuman strength.

"No!" Barry yelled, and a moment later a gunshot echoed through the halls. The nurse froze, her grip loosening, and slumped over on top of Rachel. Rachel stared into the empty eyes of the dying woman, and cringed as some of the foam that frothed from her mouth landed on her face.

"Holy shit..." Barry breathed as he holstered his gun, then pulled the body off of her and helped her to her feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." She dragged a sleeve across her face. "You?"

"I've been better." He sighed and leaned against the wall. "Twelve years on the force and I've never seen nothin' like this." He then looked over at her and raised a hand to her face, wiping at the corner of her mouth. "You're bleeding."

"Oh." She dabbed at the rapidly congealing rivulet of blood that oozed from her mouth. "Never mind that. What the hell happened here anyway?"

"Well, I was walking down this hall when I met that nurse. She was acting kinda weird, like staggering a little as she walked. I asked her if she was all right and then she just jumped me. I thought she was gonna choke me to death."

"Strange." Rachel sighed wearily. "Well something weird is going on here. I think we should...oh shit." She bolted down the hall to the visiting room and barged inside, only to find it deserted.

"Stanley...?" Clearly he was long gone. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" Barry asked from behind her.

"It seems our suspect was a flight risk," she said. "At any rate, there's still a murderer running around this place."

He nodded. "We'd might as well split up and look around. I'll head upstairs."

"Alright, I'll stay down here and check it out." She started to walk in the opposite direction when Barry stopped her. "Hey Rach, hang on a sec."

She turned to face him, expecting to see him squirm and fidget like an awkward teenager as he always did, but was surprised to see him looking more serious than she had ever seen.

"Be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, you too."

"Oh, one more thing." Now the fidgeting started. "Thanks...for saving me back there."

She waved nonchalantly over her shoulder as she walked away.


	5. Out of the Frying Pan

_Chapter Four_

"Here too..." Rachel made a quick scan of the doctor's lounge, only to find it deserted as well. There was no sign of life anywhere, as if the hospital had been deserted within a matter of minutes. It had been perfectly normal when she went into the interrogation with Stanley, that was the only thing she was certain of. She made a quick check of the rooms on the opposite side of the hall; the Director's office, Meeting Room, the restrooms, cafeteria, all were locked, save one. The kitchen doors opened, and Rachel paused before entering to ready her gun.

A horrendous stench permeated the kitchen, smelling vaguely of rotten meat and something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on...though she was sure she wouldn't want to put any part of her body on it if she found it. There were slabs of rancid meat festering on a steel prep table in the middle of the room. Flies swarmed about, and she swatted them as she hurriedly investigated. A large stockpot filled with something that had most likely been soup at one time sat on the stove; drawing flies of its own.

"Damn...and I complain about the food at the Happy Burger," Rachel thought aloud. That was when she noticed a considerable amount of heat radiating from the large industrial-sized oven next to the stove. The heat was turned up about a quarter of the way, but she was willing to bet that no one had prepared food in here for some time. Unable to bear the stink any longer, Rachel bolted for the door, when a sudden noise behind her caught her attention. She whirled around in time to see the oven door fly open, and a large charred lump flopped onto the floor. Rachel jumped when it started to move, and she realized with a sudden chill that it was a woman, still alive, but barely. A blood-curdling gurgle emanated from her throat, and at last she collapsed lifelessly on the tile floor. Rachel leaned against the door and let out the breath she had been holding, trying to still her racing heartbeat. What the hell was someone doing in the oven? Surely she didn't "accidentally" end up in there. On second thought, she figured she didn't want to know the details. Her head fell forward as her strength rapidly waned, and that was when she noticed something on the floor next to the oven. It was a key, with a plastic key chain hand-printed with the words "d. office".

"Hmm...director's office, maybe?" Rachel didn't stop to ask herself what this key was doing in the kitchen; she was just in a hurry to get the hell out of the reeking kitchen. She made her way to the office at the end of the corridor, and unlocked it using the key she had just found. Upon doing so, she heard a rustle of activity from inside the room, and instinctively reached for her gun. She paused for a moment before slowly pushing the door open, then stepped inside, thrusting the gun in front of her.

"Ahh! Don't shoot!" A man's voice cried out. A flurry of papers scattering to the floor accompanied his panicked movements, and Rachel froze where she was, slowly lowering the weapon. A middle-aged man sat at a cluttered desk, next to a window that looked out onto the street outside. His light-gray business suit was slightly rumpled, as was his dark hair. His eyes were somewhat red and glassy-looking.

"I'm sorry," Rachel apologized awkwardly, holstering her gun and in turn reaching for her badge, which she showed to him. "Rachel Goren. I'm a detective."

"Hmm..." The man studied her. "So you're that cop the nurses were all whispering about. Well I'm Ernest Baldwin. I'm the director of this facility."

"Okay." She took a step into the room when it became clear that he was not going to try to attack her. "Ernest, can you tell me what's going on here?"

He looked at her strangely. "I don't follow."

"Well, my partner and I were here investigating a possible murder case. I took a suspect in for questioning, and the next thing I know my partner is being attacked by one of your nurses. Now it looks as though the entire hospital has been deserted. Do you have any idea what might have happened?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I was taking a nap here in my office. I couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes. Things were perfectly normal last I knew."

Right away the warning lights started going off in Rachel's head. Surely this guy had not slept through the sound of a gun being fired. She wondered if she should mention the other "victim" she had found in the kitchen.

"I'm afraid I know nothing, young lady," Ernest continued, interrupting her thoughts. "But do let me know if you find out anything. I'm always willing to help out our folks in uniform. And might I say that is a nice uniform," he added, eyeing her surreptitiously.

"Thanks," she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She was more than ready for this conversation to end, and it seemed she would get her wish. Ernest was suddenly distracted by the ringing of the cell phone lying on his desk. He made a show of checking the caller ID.

"Damn...I gotta run." He stood up from the desk, nodding politely as he walked past her. "Rachel, I wish you the best of luck on your investigation. Please call me if you need anything. Here's my number." He handed her a business card from the breast pocket of his jacket before he bolted from the room. Rachel examined the card. On the front was the standard fare, a pretentious embossed design plainly labeling him as the head honcho of the place, but on the back something had caught her eye as he was handing it to her. Handwritten in ink were words and a number: _3rd floor patient wing hall: 7335._

"Huh...wonder what he was doing with this." Rather than asking herself questions she knew she couldn't answer, Rachel headed for the elevator. She punched the button for the third floor, but the elevator never came.

"Fuck...what next?"

A few moments later Rachel emerged on the third floor by way of the stairs. Already she felt a little winded; it seemed that 12 years of smoking were taking their toll on her. At any rate, she had never wanted a cigarette more in her life than she did at that moment. She proceeded to take one from the pack in her shirt pocket; she was sure smoking was prohibited inside the hospital, but who could possibly be around to stop her? She was just about to light it when she was startled by a blood-curdling shriek.

"What the hell...?" She tracked the scream to a door just around the corner, labeled "Special Treatment Room". She barged through to find herself in another small room, this one with four narrow doors lining the rear wall. Isolation cells, she realized with a sudden chill. Peering through the narrow window of one of the doors, she saw a small room that couldn't have been more than six by eight feet. Small enough to drive a claustrophobic person such as herself even more mad than they already had to be to end up in there. She checked another door, finding a familiar face on the other side.

"Stanley?" The peculiar man she had interrogated earlier beat desperately on the door from the inside. She fumbled with the doorknob, finally releasing a latch that allowed the door to open. The slender man stumbled to the floor outside of the cell, taking several deep breaths before scrambling to his feet. He turned to Rachel with a sickeningly sappy grin.

"I knew you would come for me," he said, standing too close for comfort. She took a step back, avoiding eye contact.

"How did you end up in there?" she asked.

"That evil wench threw me in there," he answered. "I tried to stop her, but she hit me over the head and locked me inside when I was stunned. She mentioned your name. I have to stop her..."

"Wait...who is this woman? How does she know me?"

"I'm not sure myself. She's plotting something, though. I have to stop her. It's my turn to protect you."

She just shook her head. "I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of myself. I'm a cop, after all." She turned her back to him, examining the inside of the cell he had previously occupied. The padding was stained and dirty, and a faint unpleasant odor filled the small space. She was examining it with rapt disgust when she was suddenly shoved from behind with enough force to snap her neck back.

"Ahh! What the hell?" She regained her bearings and whirled around just as the door was slamming shut behind her. She pressed her face to the smeared window. "Stanley! What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm sorry Rachel. I didn't want it to be this way, but I have to do this. I'll be back for you, I promise."

"Stanley you fruitcake, let me out of here!" She pounded the door with her fists, finally giving it a good hard kick before giving up and collapsing against the musty walls. She quickly stood up straight as the acrid odor of stale sweat and urine rose up like a cloud from the dusty cloth. Already she could see and feel the walls closing in on her, just as she had in the bathroom at her aunt and uncle's house that day...she didn't want to remember that. All she could think about was getting out of here before she became crazy herself.

Seconds ticked by like minutes, and minutes like hours. She wasn't really sure how long she had been in here. Any amount of time was too long. She stood perfectly still in the center of the room, arms pinned to her side to avoid touching anything. The sensation of years-old powdered bodily wastes slowly entering every orifice of her body nearly drove her to beat her head against the door. Instead she chose to resume beating it with her fists, screaming at the top of her lungs until she was certain she'd black out. It seemed she did just that, as some time later she opened her eyes to find herself slumped against the back wall. Much to her relief-not to mention chagrin-Barry stood over her with the typical smirk.

"Looks like I just won 10," he said.

"What the hell for...?" She didn't sound nearly as grateful as she really was. He offered a hand to help her to her feet, but she ignored it.

"I bet McDaniel that before we left here, you'd end up either in a padded cell or a straitjacket...or both. I would've got 50 if it was both."

"Real funny, smartass." She stepped out of the cell, brushing herself off. "I suppose that's what possessed you to look in here?"

"No, actually, I found your lighter in the hall outside." He held the gold-plated lighter out to her. "I started to worry..."

"Me too, that's my favorite." She put it back in her pocket.

"How'd you end up in there anyway?" he asked her.

"That's…not important." She quickly changed the subject. "Did you check out the second floor?"

"Not yet, I came up here first. I thought I heard a scream or something, but I couldn't get in that door over there. I need some kind of pass code."

"I've got it." She held up the business card with the number written on it. "I'll go check it out. You go have a look around on the second floor."

"Right." He started to walk away, and turned around just before he reached the corner. "Watch out for straitjackets."

"Hey Barry, you know what you can do?"

"Bite you?" He smirked. "I dream about it every night."

"I'm sure."


	6. Into The Fire

For good measure, I don't know what possessed me to write this. I'm just girl-crazy I guess. :) Reviews are welcome as always.

* * *

Rachel gained access to the 3rd floor patient wing by punching in the four-digit code she had received from Ernest. This hall was darker than the previous areas of the hospital; it appeared that some of the overhead lights were in need of replacing. It didn't seem that this facility was big on maintenance though, judging from the overall run-down condition of the place. The left-hand wall was lined with doors, each labeled S1, S2, S3, and so forth. The first two were actually missing their knobs, but the third one was still intact, and it was from this room that Rachel heard a strange, low noise. She leaned against the wall and drew her gun, slowly opening the door and thrusting her weapon before her before entering; an act that seemed to scare more people than anything, but it was a risk she was willing to take. She soon let down her guard, though, when she was greeted by the sound of soft crying.

"Police," she announced. In the diluted sunlight that shone through the room's single, barred window, she found that the room was extremely small, just big enough for a single narrow bed and a small bedside table. On the bed, a young woman lay in a fetal position, keeping her back to the door. Her thin body was racked with sobs.

"Miss…are you all right?" She placed a hand gently on the woman's shoulder, causing her to jump a little. "It's okay miss…I'm a police officer."

The woman relaxed a little at this. "That voice…" She turned over and sat up slowly, her eyes slowly traveling up Rachel's body to her face. Rachel stared back; trying to place a face she knew she had seen before. She was young, close to Rachel's age, with medium-length blonde hair and brown eyes. She wore a loose-fitting white gown, just as she had seen other female patients wear. It was difficult to tell her body type under the ill-fitting cloth.

"Rachel," she said. "Don't tell me you don't remember me. Lisa Garland? I was your nurse at Alchemilla."

Remember…how could she ever forget. It was five years ago. She was still a rookie, not even two years into her career when she was involved in a shootout in Silent Hill's shopping district. One bullet aimed at the police met its mark, right into her back. It grazed her spine; the doctors had told her without mincing words that two millimeters to the left would have spelled eternal rest for her. Instead, her fate had been a week's stay at Silent Hill's Alchemilla Hospital. Her doctor, Michael Kaufmann, didn't exactly have the greatest bedside manner, but she was fortunate enough to be left in the capable hands of a young nurse most of the time. She had come to know Lisa Garland, a young woman struggling to build a career under the eagle-eye watch of the chauvinistic Dr. Kaufmann. She witnessed the nurse suffer cringe-inducing, humiliating abuse at the hands of the doctor, and came to truly sympathize with her. Unfortunately, after her release she lost contact with the woman she had come to consider a friend, and never saw her again…until now.

"Of course I didn't forget," Rachel said lamely. "I just never expected to find you in a place like this."

Lisa sighed, and curled her legs under her on the bed. "I never expected to end up in a place like this. But maybe I belong here. I shouldn't have let him get to me…"

"What happened?"

She hesitated. "I killed him."

"Who?"

"My boss. I just couldn't take it anymore. The abuse…all the humiliating things he did to me…the things he made me do…" She lowered her eyes, and drew a shaky breath. "You probably think I'm a terrible person, don't you?"

Rachel thought about this. "Well…speaking as a cop, I cannot condone murder. But as a woman who's been where you were, I can't really blame you for snapping. Drastic measures call for drastic actions."

Lisa raised her head, and smiled for the first time, sighing with relief. "I should've known you'd understand," she said. "I wish you had been with me during that time. Maybe it wouldn't have had to come to that. But then again…maybe I was meant to end up in here. Maybe it was the only way I could see you again."

"Maybe."

Lisa rose from the bed, and Rachel noticed for the first time that she was barefoot. She cringed at the idea of any exposed skin coming into contact with the dirty-looking tile floor, but Lisa didn't seem to mind. She stood very close to Rachel, as could be expected in such a small space.

"Well…if I really was meant to see you again, I guess I should tell you a few things," she said.

"Like what?"

"Well…" Lisa fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot. "It may sound silly, but…I think I had a bit of a crush on you back then."

Rachel was quite taken aback at this, but did not show it. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're so strong. You're a cop, it's your job to protect people. I wanted you to protect me."

"Well, I can still do that. It's not safe here. Let me help you get out."

"No!" Lisa blurted out, surprising Rachel. "I mean…what if that killer is out there? What if something happens to you?"

Rachel shook her head. "That's not gonna happen. I'm no rookie anymore."

"I know…but still, I worry. I don't want to lose you again. When they said there was a chance you could have died…I was scared."

"I know. But it'll be okay. I'll protect you, I promise."

Lisa smiled a little. "Okay…but before we go, can we just…stay here for a little while longer?"

"Sure."

"And…" Again with the fidgetting. "Could you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Could you…just hold me for a little while? We don't have to do anything else. I just think it would be relaxing."

Rachel considered. It was a strange request, to be sure, but the protective part of her could not refuse. "Sure."

"Thank you, Rachel," Lisa beamed. She then hesitated, looking down at the bed, and then back at Rachel. "Sit there," she instructed, pointing to the bed. Rachel did as she was told, sitting on the bed with her back against the wall. Lisa settled in next to her so that they were touching. Rachel didn't have to be told what to do next; she placed an arm around the girl's narrow shoulders, and Lisa snuggled close to her, resting her head on her shoulder.

"Mmm…this is relaxing," she said. They sat in silence for some time. Rachel's mind was racing a mile a minute. She considered all the possible outcomes of this situation. As she had said previously, this did not exactly top her list of safe places to rest. The door was not locked; anyone could walk in here. Stanley was still on the loose, as was Barry. She would never hear the end of it if the latter walked in on them. And then of course there was the possibility that Lisa would want to do more than just be held. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"You know," Lisa said out of nowhere. "I've never really talked about what happened to me. I mean, I told the doctors, but I don't think they really cared. They're men, after all. They probably don't blame him for what he did." The slightest bit of anger tinged her words.

"Well, you could tell me if you wanted," Rachel said. Anything to break the tedious silence.

"Yeah…I feel like I can tell you anything," Lisa said. "Well, it started with him just making rude comments, like telling me how great my ass looked in a skirt, stuff like that. Then he started touching me. I hated that he did that, but I put up with it. I worried that I could lose my job if I said something. And then…" She paused. "One night, I was pulling a double shift. I was in the break room getting coffee. He came in there…he locked the door behind him, I remember that now. He came up behind me…and put his arms around my waist. I was startled…I spilled coffee all over the place. Then he turns me around and just…kisses me, really harsh-like. He practically crammed his tongue down my throat. I couldn't breathe…I thought I was going to choke to death. Before I know it, I'm on the floor. He's on top of me…my skirt was shoved up…" She started to choke up at this. "He raped me right there on the floor."

"Oh God…" Rachel instinctively put her other arm around her. Lisa broke down and sobbed, pressing her face into Rachel's shoulder.

"It hurt so bad…I was so scared. And then…when he was done, he got up and zipped up his pants. He never took off any of his clothes. And then he goes, 'Okay, time to get back to work. Those bedpans don't empty themselves, you know.'" She sobbed harder, clutching onto Rachel for dear life.

"That's so awful," she said. "Did anything else happen after that?"

"Things went back to normal…at least as normal as things got around there. He still did things to me, but just the touching and comments, that sort of thing. But one day I decided I'd had enough. I bought a gun. I put it in my purse…and then…I finally did it." Her words dissolved into another flood of tears.

"It's okay. It's over now. That'll never happen to you again…at least not if I have anything to do about it."

Lisa raised her tear-stained face to stare into Rachel's eyes. Their faces were just inches apart. Rachel knew what portended, but that was not to say she wasn't shocked when Lisa leaned in to kiss her. It was light but lingering, and an unmistakable rush of heat flooded through her body. She was still shocked, to be sure; after all, she wasn't usually so inclined. But there was something about giving this gesture of solidarity to a deeply troubled woman obviously in need of comfort that just made it feel right.

"Mmm…you have no idea how long I've dreamed of this," Lisa sighed dreamily. "You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Rachel."

"That's nice," Rachel said lamely. She didn't know what else she could say or do, but it seemed that Lisa already had that planned out for her. She placed her arms around the detective's neck and pulled her in for another searing kiss. This one was deeper, much more intimate than the last; Rachel just got completely lost in it, though she wasn't sure why. It was questionable at best, considering she was currently on duty, but she reminded herself it was what was best for Lisa at the moment. That did not explain why her entire body was reacting, though. She was actually trembling.

"It's getting hot in here, don't you think?" Lisa breathed. Rachel could only nod in agreement. She kept her eyes closed, allowing her other senses to take over. She became more attuned to everything; the heat of Lisa's body so close to hers, the sound of her voice, the sudden sharp pain in the side of her neck…

"What the hell…?" Her eyes shot open, and she brushed her fingers against the side of her neck. It still stung, much like an insect bite or a pin prick. There was the slightest bit of blood on her fingers.

"What's wrong?" Lisa asked, placing a hand on the side of her face.

"Something just pricked me…" No sooner did the words leave her mouth than she started to feel a little dizzy. The room started to spin, and she struggled to focus on Lisa sitting in front of her.

"Don't worry, Rachel. It's for your own good." Lisa's cryptic comment barely registered It was, however, the last thing she heard before she passed out on the bed.

* * *

Some time later she regained consciousness. She was still on the bed, as far as she could tell, but she was also aware of the feeling of her arms and legs being stretched. Sure enough, her arms were sprawled awkwardly over her head, and she learned with some dismay when she tried to move them that they were secured that way to the bed frame, as were her legs. She blinked several times to clear the haze from her eyes. The blurry vision of Lisa standing over her eventually became clear.

"Lisa…?"

"I'm sorry I had to do this, Rachel," Lisa said. "I have to leave you for a little while. I have to do something…something I'm not proud of. I don't want you to have to see it. I'll be back for you, I promise."

_That doesn't sound familiar or anything, _Rachel thought to herself. Out loud, "Lisa…what are you…?"

Lisa paused for a moment, gazing at her with a familiar glint in her eye. "Seeing you like this…makes me wanna stick around for a little bit," she said, her voice heavy with seduction. She then proceeded to straddle the bound detective on the bed, running her hands lightly over her shoulders. Rachel barely felt it; her brain was still heavy with a barely-conscious fog. She turned her head to the side, noticing for the first time a syringe lying on the bedside table just inches from her head.

"Wait a minute…you…drugged me?"

Lisa chuckled a little. "I had a feeling you wouldn't let me do this to you," she said. "But I'm glad I was able to. You're so cute…and hot…I want you so bad." She leaned in to capture her lips hungrily. It wasn't quite the same this time. Rachel was not used to feeling helpless, let alone literally being helpless as she was now, and she didn't like it much. She struggled in vain against her restraints as Lisa began unbuttoning her shirt. Her anxious hands tugged at the black button-down tucked neatly into her jeans.

"You know I've already seen you without your clothes," she said. "But I just can't get enough of it." She ran her hands over the cop's flat stomach, stopping at her waist to enclose her fingers around her belt buckle. "Nice…you must work out a lot."

"Rachel?" Barry's voice came in over the radio on her belt. "Rachel, can you hear me? Come in."

"Barry!" she cried, knowing full well he couldn't hear her.

"Ugh…that's annoying." Lisa yanked the radio out of its holster and switched it off before setting it on the bedside table. "It's just in the way too." She then went to work on undoing her pants, no doubt realizing it would've been much easier if she had done so prior to tying up her "victim". Rachel didn't help much; she pressed her back into the bed to keep from losing any more clothing against her will.

"Why are you resisting?" Lisa said playfully. "I'm having you right here, whether you like it or not."

A flood of panic struck Rachel. "Lisa…stop. Why are you doing this?"

Lisa laughed, an eerie, almost sinister laugh, and reached in to brush the bangs out of Rachel's eyes. "I already told you…I just wanna have a little fun with you before I go." She leaned in to kiss her again, but Rachel jerked her head to the side.

"What are you planning, Lisa?"

Lisa looked a bit irked at the rebuff. "I can't tell you. I don't want you to remember me that way."

Before Rachel could question this oblique comment, the sound of the door being thrust open distracted both of them.

"Rachel!" Stanley came stampeding into the room, and froze in his tracks when he saw the two women.

"Aw man…wish I'd thought of that."

"You!" Lisa bolted from the bed, causing him to jump. "I thought I told you to stay away."

"I came to stop you, you crazy bitch!"

"You bastard." With that, Lisa suddenly reached over and grabbed the gun from Rachel's belt holster, pointing it at Stanley. "I'll kill you!"

"Lisa, no!" Rachel shouted. The words barely left her mouth before a gunshot rang out. Stanley staggered backwards from the force, but the bullet merely struck him in the upper arm. He clutched the wound, smiling creepily as the blood oozed between his fingers.

"You'll have to do better than that to stop me."

Lisa stared in disbelief at what she had just done, and then down at the gun, which she soon dropped. She stared slack-jawed at it for some time before bolting from the room without a word.

"Lisa!" Rachel sighed in defeat, and looked over at Stanley. He smiled unsettlingly at her, ogling her barely-clothed midsection while still holding onto his wounded arm.

"You mind telling me what all that was about?" she asked. "And while you're at it, how about untying me?"

"Sorry, I'm afraid I can't do that," he said. "But I will let you help me." She watched, baffled, as he reached for the knife at her belt. He then proceeded to roll up the blood-soaked sleeve of his shirt and skillfully dug the bullet out of his arm with the knife. He scarcely even flinched as he did it. Once the bullet was extracted, he reached for something under the bed, pulling out a somewhat dirty, wadded up sheet. Some strips had already been torn from it, and Rachel discerned it must have been the same one Lisa had used to tie her up. Stanley tore another good sized piece from the sheet and wrapped it around his arm, holding one end of the makeshift bandage in place with his teeth as he tied it off.

"There," he said with a flourish of finality, wiping the knife blade on his pants before putting it back where he found it. "Now as I was saying…I'm sorry I have to leave you hanging, Rachel, but it's for your own good. I'll be back as soon as I stop that crazy bitch."

"Stanley!" Rachel called after him, but he was already long gone. She grumbled under her breath as she observed her current predicament. She looked down at her legs, and then at each arm secured to the bedposts, and that's when she noticed that the cloth swath that secured her left arm was looking rather threadbare. One good jerk could probably rip it. She tensed her muscles, and drew her arm in with all her might. The rickety bed rattled with the force, but the weak cloth succumbed, freeing her arm. She immediately reached for her knife, using it to free her other arm and then her legs. She sat up, taking a moment to collect her bearings before she reached for her radio, switching it on.

"Barry. Barry, come in."

"Rachel! Thank God…I was starting to worry."

"I know. Sorry about that. I was…a little tied up," she quipped, knowing he wouldn't get her meaning. "I'm securing the rest of the third floor."

"Before you do that, I think you need to come to the women's locker room on the second floor. There's something you need to see."

She sighed. "Alright, I'll be there in a few." At this point she felt she was prepared for anything.


	7. The Lady of the Door

Hi everyone! I would like to take this opportunity to thank my very first reviewer, Fallen Angel! (I knew that plate of cookies and milk I laid out would attract attention sooner or later) And now, on with the story.

* * *

Rachel made certain, damn certain that she was properly re-dressed when she arrived at the second floor women's locker room where Barry awaited her, but it seemed he had something other than her body on his mind when she entered. He stood before an opened locker, staring inside as if he'd just seen a ghost.

"Okay…I'm officially disturbed," he said.

"You're just now determining that?" She pushed him aside and looked for herself, only to be confronted with something that could not be described as anything but deeply disturbing. Inside the locker, the severed head of a woman dangled by its hair from a rod at the top of the locker. The mouth gaped open as if frozen in a perpetual look of terror. Scrawled across the two adjoining lockers was an ominous message, apparently written in blood.

_This I present to thee, an offering,_

_St. Rachel, the Guardian_

_By these means may you find the true path_

"Man this is getting weird," Barry said. "What do you think it means?"

"Who knows." She read the message over and over again until the words blurred and were no longer legible. It was eerie to say the least, especially considering how many people in this hospital were familiar with her. She did not let Barry see her unease, though.

"So…did you find anything interesting while you were looking around?"

"Well…" There was no doubt in Rachel's mind that the last twenty minutes had been far more eventful for her than they had for him, but he didn't need to know that. "I don't know a whole hell of a lot, but I do know that three patients, one of which my uncle, and the hospital director are still around here somewhere."

"All of which…suspects?"

She sighed. Surprisingly it was not the vision of her frail, confused uncle sitting in the hospital's garden that made her rethink her answer; it was that of Lisa, sitting beside her on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably as she recanted the circumstances that landed her in here.

"Yes…" she relented. She turned back to the door, and in the process noticed something else, an envelope on the table beside the lockers, addressed to her as always. Inside was a familiar-looking note:

_The players are all in place. The game has begun. As for you, Rachel, you are both the King and the Queen. You are the most powerful piece, but all at once you must be protected at all costs. Unfortunately it is out of my power, so I'm counting on you as always. I will continue watching from afar, a mere spectator in this high-stakes game of chess._

"Man…" Rachel dropped the note on the table. "Is every person here a mental case?"

"Well, if they are then they're in the right place," Barry said. "So what next?"

She sighed. "I would suggest that we split up again and look, but every time we do that something weird happens to-" A horrific crashing sound cut her off at this point.

"What the hell was that?"

"It sounded like it came from downstairs," Barry said. The two detectives made a mad dash to the ground floor of the hospital, searching frantically for the source of the noise they had heard. They searched the front area with guns drawn in anticipation, but turned up nothing.

"Nothing…" Rachel said, slightly disappointed. "Maybe it was outside."

Just then, the sound of footsteps coming from somewhere close by caught both their attentions. They turned at once, guns readied.

"Damn, you guys really love pointing those things around, don't you?"

"Ernest?" Rachel holstered her gun and approached him. He looked like hell-not that he didn't before, but now he was disheveled and slightly dirty.

"I'm actually glad you're here," he said. "Someone has sabotaged my car. I just crashed through the wall of the underground garage."

"Well that explains the noise we heard," Barry told Rachel before turning back to Ernest. "Let's go have a look at your car."

Ernest hesitated for a moment. "Uh, okay. This way."

He proceeded to lead the detectives downstairs to the basement, and then through a set of double doors that led into a large underground parking garage, presumably for use by employees. It was fairly full of cars, including one that halfway protruded from a wall in the back. Ernest urged them to follow him to it.

"See? Come look. Someone tampered with my brakes!"

"Hmm…" Rachel studied the car. It was a late-model Cutlass, certainly newer than her 1970, only now in much worse shape. The front end completely crumpled in the crash, and a steady drip of brake fluid accumulated into a puddle on the concrete floor under the front left fender.

"Well here's the problem." She kneeled down and shone her mini-flashlight under the fender, illuminating the dripping brake hose. "There's been a hole punched in it."

"Isn't she great?" Barry gushed. "Looks, brains, and she's a car nut. I think I'll keep her."

"Listen to me." Ernest did not sound amused. "I saw a woman go running through here just after I crashed. She was holding something in her hand…probably whatever she used to punch my brake line."

"What did she look like?" Rachel asked.

"Um…she was blonde. Long hair. She was wearing a gown, like the ones our patients wear."

_Lisa? _Rachel thought, but said nothing.

"God…who would do this?" Ernest clutched his head. "I gotta get outta here before something else happens." He turned and fled to the door.

"Hey wait!" Barry called after him, but Rachel stopped him.

"Let him go," she said. "He's lying anyway. He punctured his own damn brake line."

"What?"

"Look." She shone her flashlight inside the open window of the car, revealing an ice pick lying in the front seat. "I'll bet you a round of drinks at Neely's that there's brake fluid on that thing."

"You're on." Barry grinned. Rachel opened the door and slid inside, examining the pick. Sure enough, a dark liquid substance was visible on the tip.

"Well before I hand over my tab to you, how can you be certain he sabotaged his own car? Whoever did it could have tossed that inside to make it look like he did it."

Her response was to shine the flashlight on the steering wheel, revealing dark smudged fingerprints that looked fairly recent. "He had the shit on his hands. And I noticed a few smudges on his shirt."

"Fair enough." Barry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So then Detective Goodwrench, what reason do you think he would have for sabotaging his own car?"

She stared thoughtfully at the door at the far end of the garage. "Let's find out. Something weird is definitely going on, and I think that guy knows something."

Barry nodded his assent, and the pair headed for the door, but they barely made it across the garage before the doors flew open and another familiar face appeared.

"Stanley…" Rachel sighed, half expectantly. The wayward mental patient appeared winded, as if he'd been running at a full sprint for some time, and slowed to a jog as he approached them, eventually stopping and dragging in air. In his left hand he clutched a handgun, which Rachel eyed.

"Nice gun…a Browning BDM, if I'm not mistaken. Where'd you get it?" she asked, sensing Barry's perplexed look out of the corner of her eye. Stanley must have noticed it too, but he reacted a bit unexpectedly.

"Don't look at her!" he barked, pointing the gun at Barry. "Who the hell are you anyway? What are you doing with Rachel?"

"Whoa, calm down there cowboy," Barry said, holding up his hands. "It's okay, I'm her partner. You know, on the police force."

"Stanley, why don't you put the gun down now," Rachel said in her best calming tone. Stanley eventually relented.

"Please don't be mad, Rachel," he pleaded breathlessly. "I had to steal this from one of the nurses. I have to kill them before they kill me…"

"Who?"

"Leonard and Ernest."

"Leonard? Leonard Wolf?" Rachel's curiosity was piqued at this. "You know him?"

"Yes. He's your uncle, right? My condolences."

"Uh…yeah, okay. Anyway, why do you think he's gonna kill you?"

"Because he said he would. He's said it for years. But now I think he really will. He and that director are up to…something. I know what happened to the other patients and the staff here. I know everything, and they wanna get rid of me before I start talking."

"What are they up to, Stanley? What happened?"

"I can't tell you!" Stanley said, becoming increasingly agitated. "They'll know I told, and they'll kill you too. I don't really care if they kill me. I just don't want anything to happen to you, Rachel."

She hesitated. "Okay, I don't even know where to go with that…"

"We need to find Leonard too, Rachel," Barry said. "It's not safe here. There's a killer on the loose, and we need him alive. We still have to question him about your aunt, remember?"

"Don't you get it?" Stanley said. "Leonard is the killer. He killed his wife, and my roommate. He's killed many people, and he'll do it again. We have to stop him!" He immediately bolted for the door, but Rachel was in hot pursuit.

"Stanley!" She motioned over her shoulder for Barry to follow. The pair tracked the runaway patient upstairs, past the first floor, then the second, and even the third. At this point there was only one place for him to go.

"The roof?" Barry read the faceplate on the door. "He's screwed now. Not many places he can go from here."

"Not necessarily." Rachel drew her gun and flung the door open. The detectives emerged onto the roof, where not a whole lot awaited them. A large open roof area enclosed on all sides by a chain link fence, as well as another room, plainly labelled as the elevator control room, to the right of where they entered.

"He's gone…" Barry breathed. "What'd he do anyway, commit suicide?"

"Who knows." Rachel edged closer to the fenced-in area between the elevator room and the stairwell, and peered through the fence at the third floor roof below. No bodies were to be seen there, at least. If a person were to jump to their death from the roof, they'd have to fall further than that, she was certain.

"I like the rooftop. It makes me want to fly. You too?"

Rachel and Barry whirled around at once to see Stanley standing behind them, gun in hand. Before he could fire a shot, Barry charged him, tackling him to the ground. As soon as they landed, the gun went off, fortunately firing toward the sky. Rachel crouched down impulsively, and watched in shock as the two men wrestled for the gun. Stanley was stronger than he looked, and eventually kicked Barry off of him, sending the middle-aged detective rolling across the roof to where Rachel was. Both cops got to their feet, and before they knew what hit them Stanley rushed them, sending Barry crashing into Rachel and sending both of them crashing through the apparently weakened chain link fence behind them. It seemed every area of the hospital was in poor repair, as evidenced when they then fell through the roof of the third floor.

* * *

"Ugh…damn, where are we?" Rachel regained her bearings long enough to find herself lying atop a pile of rubble from the roof-and beneath a stunned Barry.

"Well hey…" He raised himself up by his arms, but with his lower body still in contact with hers. "This isn't so bad. I could get used to this."

"Get off me, you horny old bastard." She shoved him roughly, sending him flying into a padded door, making it painfully obvious to her that they were back in the special treatment area.

"'Old?' I'm only eight years older than you!"

"I stand corrected." She rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Okay, enough shit. We have four people to track down. Let's stick together and finish scoping out this floor."

"Right."

The pair returned to the patient wing hall. Rachel led the way, rechecking the doors she had been unable to open before, and trying the others. Most were locked, but they were finally successful when they reached S7. Unfortunately there was not much to be found inside the tiny room.

"Damn, this is where they keep the patients?" Barry said as he observed the cramped quarters, which were furnished similarly to the room that Rachel and Lisa had shared.

"What'd you expect, a four-star suite?" Rachel said as she eyed the bed, its worn and stained mattress devoid of linens. She was already so coated with the dirt and grime of the place that she no longer cared about getting dirty, but she still had no desire to come in contact with the soiled surface. She was, however, inclined to reach for a piece of paper that could clearly be seen protruding from between the mattress and the box springs; a crudely hand-written note. Barry read it over her shoulder.

_She is an angel no one knows; only I can see the Lady of the Door_

_They cannot walk along her Bridge of Thread, they fall from the weight of their crimes_

_Like bloated and ugly corpses their sins, she devours them sin and sinner alike_

_She saves me; she is an angel_

"Well this is surprisingly coherent to be written by a mental patient," Barry observed.

"Come on Barry, they're mental, not stupid," Rachel said, surprising herself with her defensiveness. "God, you're such an ass sometimes."

"Well excuse me Miss Politically Correct," Barry shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching to belie his seriousness, but she had already stepped out into the hall. "If I remember correctly, I wasn't the one who was-"

"Hey Barry…come here a second."

Barry immediately came out into the hall, and came to her side to see what she was looking at. She was standing near the elevator directly across the hall from the room, staring at the door to the stairwell. It demanded attention, seeing as how it was adorned with an elaborate painting. It was a remarkably detailed work, portraying a black-clad, brown-haired woman. The woman's hands were extended as if reaching to hold something, but were stained with the unmistakable crimson hue of blood.

"Hey Rachel, that looks like you," Barry said.

"How about telling me something I don't know?" Rachel did not get shaken easily, but just the sight of this macabre artwork was enough to chill her to the bone. She stared into the brilliant green eyes of the woman in the painting, and could have sworn she saw them move.

"Well...they certainly captured your ass perfectly."

She glared at him. "Speaking of asses, yours is gonna get kicked here in a minute." She started to raise a hand to point at him as she spoke, but quickly stuffed both hands in her pockets when she noticed how badly they were trembling. It seemed that Barry noticed it too.

"Hey, you're shaking," he said. "Are you…scared?"

"No," she answered, perhaps too quickly. "I haven't had a smoke in like two hours." She quickly reached into her shirt pocket and took out a cigarette, placing it between her lips as she searched for her lighter.

"There's nothing wrong with being scared, Rachel," he said. "I get scared."

"You're afraid of spiders," she pointed out. Thankfully she found her lighter, and quickly lit up her cigarette. "Look, I'm fine, okay? Now let's find out where this thing goes." She turned the knob, but the door wouldn't budge.

"Damn…locked."

Just then, the sound of the elevator arriving caught their attention, and they both turned at once and stared dumbly at the doors.

"Come on, let's hide!" Rachel said, dragging Barry by the arm back to room S7.

"What for?" he asked, but in the end he had little say in the matter. The pair peered out through a crack in the door into the hall. They witnessed a man whom Rachel immediately identified as Ernest stepping off the elevator and stopping just outside, directly in front of the door painting.

"What the hell is he doing…?" she said, more or less to herself as she watched him rummage through his pockets, becoming increasingly flustered as he failed to turn up anything. He looked over his shoulder as if sensing someone nearby, and then started to walk down the hall. It was then that she noticed he was carrying a gun in his hand.

"God damn it…what's he up to?" Rachel ground out the rest of hercigarette on the floor, andquietly pushed the doorbeforesteppingout into the hall.

"Rachel! What are you doing?" Barry hissed.

She turned around. "Stay here and don't come out until I tell you to." She then took off down the hall after Ernest.

"Ernest, wait up."

The director whirled around quickly, looking startled. "Oh, Rachel…am I ever glad to see you."

"Likewise." She eyed the revolver he clutched in his left hand. "Hey…isn't that a Ruger Blackhawk?"

Ernest looked perplexed, almost frightened, for a moment. "Y-yeah…I hope it's okay that I have it…you know, like, legal. I have a permit. It's just…I leave here at all hours of the night sometimes, and you know what kind of weirdos come out after dark."

"Of course, I know all too well. I am a cop," she said, and added, "I'm rather fond of the Ruger myself. Never leave home without it." She patted the holster at her side, and Ernest started to relax.

"I'm just scared. I don't know what's happened to everyone, but there are dangerous people running around this hospital. The only thing on my mind is getting outta here alive."

"I know," she said. "Well it's bad now, and it's only gonna get worse. I'll help you get out of here while you still can."

Ernest contemplated this. "Well…I guess so. But first…there's something I gotta do. I left something…something important. It's in the basement. Will you come with me to get it?"

"The basement?" Something about this struck her as suspicious, but she humored him. "Fine, let's get going." She started to head back to the elevator.

"No!" Ernest blurted out.

"What's wrong?"

"Um…" He hesitated. "I just remembered, that elevator is broken. It only goes up. We'll have to take the stairs."

Once again the warning signals were going off like crazy in her head, but she went along with it. "Fine, I need the exercise anyway. Now come on."

She walked with him the rest of the way down the corridor to the double doors at the end, and pushed open the door to peer outside, keeping her gun readied.

"All clear. Lead on." She urged Ernest to go ahead of her, staying behind just long enough to gesture for Barry to follow. The elder detective did as he was told, keeping a safe distance from the pair as they made the trek down three flights of stairs, coming to a stop on the first floor landing.

"What's up?" Rachel asked.

"I need to think…where could I have left it…" Ernest mused to himself.

Rachel stayed near the stairs, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Barry, who waited just around the corner at the top of the stairs, gun drawn.

"Well, let's go down there and find it already," she said.

"No, it might be dangerous. You stay here and I'll go check it out."

"No, I'm a cop. I should go with you in case there is something dangerous down there."

Ernest cocked his head to the side as he studied her thoughtfully. "What is it, Rachel? Don't you trust me?" Before she could answer he added, "I don't know why I'm asking that though. It's fairly obvious that you don't. Why else would you have your partner tag along?"

It took a moment for this to register in Rachel's brain, but it certainly did when Ernest cocked the gun and raised it in Barry's direction without even looking.

"Come out here and face me like a man, you cowardly bastard."

Several seconds passed with no response from Barry. Finally the detective emerged from around the corner, gun still drawn.

"I see you don't trust me either," Ernest said, observing the weapon. "That's Silent Hill's police force for you. "I shudder to think what might've happened to some of my patients if they had gone to jail instead of coming here."

"That's funny, because I shudder to think what might've happened to them here," Rachel said. "I'm not stupid, Ernest. I know you're up to something. You've been acting weird ever since I met you in your office. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You start talking, or I'll be forced to take you into custody."

Ernest scoffed at this. "I'm afraid the only person who's going to be taken into custody is you, my dear." With that, he raised the gun and fired a shot in Barry's direction. Barry let out a shriek of agony and fell to his knees, clutching his left hand.

"Barry!" Rachel barely had time to call out to him before she was pistol-whipped across the back of the head, and collapsed to the landing. Fortunately her last thought turned out the lights before it left.


	8. Crunch Time

Barry opened his eyes some time later to find himself in a place he didn't recognize. A haze covered his eyes, preventing him from seeing his surroundings clearly. He started to raise a hand to rub his eyes, only to find they were bound behind his back. He struggled a bit, sending a blinding pain ripping through his left hand in the process. He gritted his teeth to keep from yelling, lest someone hear him. The pain grounded his thoughts once again, and he slowly remembered the events that put him in this condition. He and Rachel had trailed Ernest to the basement, where the off-beat director suddenly went berserk and attacked them, shooting Barry in the hand. Just before he blacked out from the pain, he saw the man strike Rachel in the head. A deep chill flooded through him when he realized he didn't know what happened to her after that.

"Ugh…damn…" He didn't want to see the shape his hand was in, and at the very least the fact that both hands were bound tightly behind his back prevented him from doing so. It certainly felt as though it'd been run through a meat grinder, but surprisingly this did not bother him as much as the thought that something far worse could happen to Rachel. He had to find her.

Having finally gathered his bearings, Barry could see he was in an exam room of some kind. He was lying on his side on a padded exam table; not the most comfortable position, but with a grunt he was able to roll off the table, only to fall flat on his face on the hard tile floor. With a great deal of effort he was able to struggle onto his feet, and stumbled to the door, only to find that he was virtually unable to manipulate the knob in his current state. It was obvious that whoever had thrown him in here was intent on his inability to escape. Even so, he was more afraid that something even worse could happen to Rachel. In desperation he slammed his body against the door over and over, determined to get out even without the use of his hands.

"What the hell…" Much to his surprise, he could hear the sound of the door being unlocked from the outside. He backed away from the door, his heart pounding at the thought that they might be returning to finish him off.

"It's okay, I'm here to help."

Barry was both surprised and relieved at the sound of a female voice on the other side. Not Rachel, unfortunately, but at least it was another, seemingly normal person. He watched as the door opened slowly, and a blonde woman clad in a white hospital gown stepped inside.

"Don't worry, I'm not one of them," she said, noticing his wide-eyed expression, and held up a key. "I stole the director's master key, in case you were wondering."

"Thanks," Barry said dumbly as he got to his feet, and stared at the petite woman. He assumed she was a patient here, but she looked quite normal, fortunately. She smiled shyly and nervously ran a hand through her hair.

"No problem. My name's Lisa. You must be Rachel's partner…"

"Barry. You know Rachel?"

"Yeah…we go way back. Here, let me get that…" He watched as she took a pair of scissors from the counter, and then allowed her to turn him around to allow her access to his restraints.

"Oh my God…what happened to your hand?" Lisa gasped.

"He…Ernest shot me…" He drew a shuddered sigh. "How does it look?"

"Not good, I'm afraid. Here, I'll have a look at it for you." She proceeded to cut his bindings loose, and he hesitantly drew his left hand in front to have a look. Sure enough, it was not a pretty sight. It looked as though the bullet had gone clean through, and he was certain some tendons had been damaged enough to prevent him from moving his fingers, perhaps permanently.

"Holy shit…"

"Yeah, it doesn't look good…" She started to reach for his hand, and he instinctively backed away.

"It's okay, I used to be a nurse. Now let me see…" She gently took his wrist and examined the hand, and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"Ooh…yeah, it's pretty bad. At least let me disinfect it and bandage it for you."

"No, there's no time…"

"It'll only take a minute. Now come here." She started rummaging through the cabinets, and eventually turned up a clear glass bottle filled with a dark purple, almost black substance.

"Wait, that's…iodine," Barry said with the slightest bit of trepidation.

"Yeah, it'll burn like hell, but take it like a man, okay?"

Barry sighed wearily, feeling as though he would pass out at any moment, but his attention was quickly regained when she grabbed hold of his wrist and thrust his hand over the sink, where she promptly poured most of the bottle's contents over his hand.

"Fuck!" Barry let out a shriek that could've rattled the walls at the searing sting of the medicine, and watched wide-eyed as the volatile substance flowed over his hand and mingled with blood in the bottom of the stainless steel sink. He gave up trying to be tough and collapsed against the counter, breathing hard as she gingerly wrapped his entire hand with a bandage.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like a million bucks," he grumbled. "So, you and Rachel are old friends or something?"

"Something like that…" The young woman stared down at the floor. "I'm worried about her. I saw that awful Ernest Baldwin drag you up here and put you in this room, and I just know he'll do something worse to her."

Barry's pulse raced at this. "You do?"

"Yes. He's a monster. He abused the patients here, and I'm sure he wouldn't stop at killing. He's crazy."

Barry sighed. "Well I'm gonna take your word on that for now. I have to find her, no matter what."

"I'll come with you."

He stared at her curiously. "I...I can't let you do that. It's too dangerous. I'll get you somewhere safe first."

"No." She surprised him with her resolve. "I can't expect you to understand, but I have to do this. It's Rachel."

He blinked. "I'm sorry…I guess I'm just a little confused. I don't remember her ever mentioning you."

She looked surprised, almost hurt at this. "Well, it was a long time ago…but I owe her. I never got a chance to thank her for what she's done for me."

He sighed again. "I don't know…"

"Besides," she grinned as she held up the key once again, "I have this. You won't get far without it."

"Fine, fine, you can come with me. Now we've wasted enough time. Let's get the hell outta here already."

She nodded her assent. "Let's start by searching the rooms on this floor. I can unlock any door in this place. If she's still here, we'll find her."

The pair went into the hall and through the doors to the first floor patient wing. The hall wasn't nearly as long as the patient wing on the third floor, but there were plenty of rooms to explore. Barry steeled himself for anything that might be waiting on the other side of the doors; something he had never had to do before.

"The day room…" Lisa turned to the double doors to the immediate left, echoing the faceplate that adorned them. It certainly didn't sound like she had the fondest memories of the place, but Barry was not at all prepared for what he saw when she opened the doors. In addition to the overturned tables and shattered chairs, the floors and walls were splattered liberally with blood. The smell of it was nearly overpowering.

"Holy shit…it looks like World War III took place in here," he said. "Do you know anything about this?"

She took a breath, her face turning an ashen gray. "I don't know much, but I do know one hell of a fight took place in this hospital two days ago. I hid the entire time. It's probably a miracle that I'm still living."

In that moment, Barry took a page out of Rachel's book and began constructing a scene in his mind, one that even he had to admit made little sense. "So let me get this straight…Baldwin called us in to investigate one murder when there was a veritable bloodbath here just a couple days earlier? What, he thought we were too stupid to figure it out eventually?"

"Well…I don't know about that…" She quickly changed the subject. "Look, we'll talk about it later okay? Right now we need to concentrate on saving Rachel. Now let's go."

The pair continued methodically searching the rooms, each one offering up even more blood and gore than the last, but Rachel was nowhere to be found. Barry's sense of urgency grew with each room they explored. He was beginning to suspect that Ernest was not the only one here with something to hide, but he didn't feel right badgering a mental patient, especially under the circumstances. He merely lingered in the background while Lisa took the lead in the search, all the while calculating when would be the proper time to question her more. By the time they reached the final room, the pool, his patience had worn about as thin as it could go.

"Lisa, you'll cooperate with us, right?" he asked as he anxiously waited for her to release the padlock that held the double doors shut. "I mean, there's gonna be a lot of questioning and stuff like that. You think you'll be up for it?"

"Sure I will. Why do you ask?" She calmly released the lock, and turned to him with a shockingly hostile look. "I suppose you think I'm in on it too, huh? You think he had all of us under his thumb? Well you know what? When and if-and that's a big if-I do decide to tell you guys _shit_, I'll tell Rachel. She's a saint. She's too good for you."

Barry's jaw dropped. "I…I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean anything. I was just wondering. I don't want you to feel overwhelmed."

All at once her demeanor changed again, reverting to the calm and rational woman he had met moments earlier. "I'm sorry…I don't know where that came from. I've…been under a lot of stress lately. But I'm okay, really."

He let out the breath he'd been holding. "Okay, if you insist. Let's keep looking, then."

The two entered the pool area, a dark and cavernous room that smelled vaguely of chlorine and dried blood. There were a few trails of blood on the tiled floor as if something-or someone-had been dragged across it, just as there had been in the other rooms. In the dim light, Barry could see that the pool itself was completely drained, its bottom crusted with foul brown stains. Fortunately there were no bodies piled up there, although at this point nothing would shock him.

"Locker room," Barry read the faceplate of one of the doors in the back, the first one they'd encountered that was not locked. "That's a pretty predictible place to hide a prisoner."

"We can't count anything out," Lisa said matter-of-factly, searching along the wall and flipping on the light switch, the lethargic fluorescent lights flickering to life to bathe the trashed room in a sickly white glow. More blood painted the floors and walls and lockers, but still no bodies or weapons were to be found.

"It looks like things were just going as normal when all hell broke loose," Lisa said as she observed the shower area, drawing Barry's attention to one of the shower stalls. The splatter of blood on the rear wall formed an ominous silhouette around a clean area that vaguely resembled a head and shoulders. Barry relaxed only a little when it was evident that Rachel had not fallen victim to the carnage-not yet at least. He leaned against the only clean part of the stall and dragged a hand down his face.

"Hey, does this bother you?" Lisa asked. "I figured a detective would be used to seeing this kind of stuff."

"I am…it's just…I'm not used to seeing it without Rachel by my side. I guess it's the only way I can be certain she's safe, is when she's with me."

"You sound like you're pretty close."

"We've worked together for a long time now," he said. "I've practically watched her grow up. She's a big part of my life."

"So you're friends, then?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Think you could ever be more than friends?"

"I…" He stopped. "Well, I…I don't know…"

"Sure you do." Lisa folded her arms and glared at him. "I can tell by the way you talk about her. You want her. You go home at night and fantasize about her. You don't respect her at all…you just want her in your bed, don't you?" Her voice rose with her anger.

"Lisa…?"

"Don't misunderstand me. I'm not helping _you_. I'm doing this for Rachel. She's done so much for me…it's my turn to protect her."

"Isn't that touching…" a disembodied male voice spoke out of nowhere, and the pair looked around frantically.

"Leonard?" Lisa gasped.

The old man chuckled softly from his unseen location. "I couldn't help overhearing, and I thought it warranted pointing out that while you're here bickering, your beloved Rachel could very well be breathing her last."

"Leonard you bastard!" Lisa bolted into the locker room, looking all around for the source of the voice. "Where are you? You know where she is, don't you?"

"Well, yes and no." The elder patient spoke in a maddeningly calm tone. "Rest assured, though, that I can see her plainly from where I am."

"If there is so much as a scratch on her I'll break every fucking bone in your crusty old body," Barry snarled.

"Spare me your idle threats. I'm just the messenger," Leonard said. "At any rate, I just thought you two would like to know that this hospital has been rigged with explosives."

"Rigged with what?" Lisa blurted out.

"Yes, there are four bombs set up somewhere in this building. Every 25 minutes, one of them will be detonated. In an hour this place will be nothing but a smoldering hole in the ground…that is, depending on your actions."

"God damn it…" Barry clutched his head with both hands.

"Just to clarify, we are not terrorists," Leonard said. "We will give you a chance to save yourselves, and Rachel as well. If within the course of this hour you manage to find Rachel, we will surrender. We'll dismantle the bombs and give you the girl. Note, however, that we are so confident you will not find her that we decided to make you this offer. If at any time we become bored with your antics, we might just change our minds altogether. Do keep this in mind. Oh, and best of luck to you both, as well."

"Bastard…" Lisa muttered under her breath as the faint sound of an intercom being switched off echoed through the room. She turned to Barry with a look of desperation. "What the hell do we do now?"

The detective ran a hand through his thinning hair and stared up at the ceiling, gazing directly at what he could have sworn was a surveillance camera.

"Well," he said. "Looks like it's crunch time."

* * *

"Find the Holy One…find the Holy One…find the Holy One…"

Rachel opened her eyes. She was vaguely aware of being seated somewhere, a floor, she discerned, with a rough concrete wall at her back. Her shoulders ached, and she realized with a sudden chill that her hands were bound behind her back. The rough surface of the unfinished concrete dug into her knuckles.

"What the fuck…" She raised her head, and shook the haze from her brain in time to see a figure not six feet from where she was. It was a man, seated cross-legged on the wood plank floor, rocking back and forth erratically with both hands clearly occupied in his lap. Her eyes widened with horror, and she quickly looked away as he got to his feet, looking back just in time to see him quickly zipping up his pants.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. You weren't supposed to see that," Ernest said as he walked over to her.

"Ernest…what the hell is going on here?" She tried to move her hands from their uncomfortable position, only to find that they were firmly secured behind her back. "Damn…not again…what is it with you freaks and bondage, anyway?"

He smiled eerily and brought a hand to her face, stroking her cheek lightly with one finger. "It's only for a little while. Soon we'll both be free."

She looked up at him in disbelief. "You're completely insane…"

His expression changed to one of anger, and his hand knotted into a fist near her face, only to relax a moment later. "You don't understand yet, but you will soon. Please believe me."

A sudden sick feeling struck her when she remembered what had happened directly before she lost consciousness. "Where's Barry? What did you do to him?"

"He's somewhere safe, don't you worry about him. All you have to do now is relax and wait."

She was beginning to panic, but she didn't dare let it show. "I want to see Barry."

"And you will soon enough. But you'd better make the most of it, becauseit will be for the last time."

She found herself extremely irritated by this comment; her patience was running even thinner than usual. "What the hell are you guys planning?"

"That's for us to worry about, dear." His hand came to rest on the gun holstered at his waist. "I see you still don't trust me, but that will soon change."

"Trust you? You expect me to trust you? You've got me tied up God knows where, and you think I'm gonna fucking-"

At that moment, a sharp stinging blow across her right cheek cut her off, and her head snapped to the side with the force. She felt the hot trickle of blood, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears well up in her eyes. She kept her head turned to the side and refused to look at him.

"Oh no…oh no, what have I done?" She looked up long enough to see him place the gun on the floor. A spot of blood could be seen where the hammer had cut into her skin when he hit her.

"I didn't mean it…oh God, I didn't mean it…" His fingers traced lightly over the gash on her cheek. She cringed as he leaned in to kiss her lightly, his fingers traveling slowly down her face to her neck, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Her horror and disgust grew as his attention shifted from her lips to her cheek, where he gently licked and sucked at the wound, consuming her blood as if it were a fine chianti. She squirmed as he travelled lower, cleansing the blood trail from her neck with his tongue before progressing to sucking and lightly biting the sensitive area. Only when she tried to struggle loose from him did she realize that he was now straddling her legs to inhibit any movement from her.

"God damn it!" She jerked away from him with all the pent-up rage in her body. Ernest shifted his weight momentarily, raising himself up slightly and backing away, leaving her the perfect opening to land one good hard blow to the groin. He exploded with a cry of pain as her knee met its mark, and collapsed in a fetal position in the far corner of the tiny featureless room. It was only then that Rachel realized she was being held in such a small, claustrophobic space. She felt her pulse racing in her veins, but she tried not to show it.

"I deserved that…" Ernest whimpered. "I'm not worthy to touch you…that way…"

"Don't beat yourself up…it's been awhile since I've let any man touch me."

"No man is worthy of touching you that way…I'll kill anyone who tries." He stood up with a look of resolve unlike any she'd ever seen. It made her fearful of what paranoid thoughts might be running through his head concerning Barry, and just what he planned to do about them.

"Ernest…can you tell me what's going on here? Why are you doing this?"

"It's a test," Ernest answered quickly. "When I can pass this test, I'll have earned my place in paradise."

"Paradise, huh? What kind of place is that? Are the drinks complimentary or is there a cash bar?"

Ernest did not look amused. "After the Judgment and Atonement, all of us will live there, under the guidance of our mistress and guardian…that's you, Rachel."

"Okay, so…I guess that means I get my drinks for free?"

Ernest actually cracked a smile at this. "This is not your true self, you know. Your true self is already there…but she is not yet complete. She will not come into her true form until you join her, and the only way for that to happen is for your earthly form to, well…die." He choked up visibly at this. "But it's okay, because death is not permanent. We're going to a better place."

"Uh..." She gaped at him. "Okay, wow, just...wow. This has got to be a dream. Just how hard did you hit me in the head?"

By this time Ernest was no longer paying attention to her; he had returned to his place in the corner, muttering something under his breath. Rachel sighed and let her head fall back, and in the process caught a glimpse of something she hadn't noticed before, concealed in the shadows of the small, dark space. "What the hell is that…?"

"What's that?"

"Up there in the corner…is that a camera?"

Ernest rose slowly and stepped slightly to the side, causing the object to follow his motions. He turned back to her, his eyes ablaze.

"Someone's watching this? Who is it? What the hell is going on here, Ernest?"

"It's nothing. You saw nothing!" With this he retrieved his gun, and struck her hard across the temple with it. This time she willed herself into the dark void of unconsciousness. Anything had to be less painful than this.


	9. Caught In A Web

I live! I have been slacking off lately, and I feel like I didn't do as well on this chapter as I could have (It's kind of short, but it's the best I could do). I'd like to once again thank my most loyal reader, Fallen Angel, and a new reviewer, OrpheumZero, who was a doll and rated each individual chapter. He's a man after my own heart, he is. Anyway, I promise it gets really interesting after this, so please bear with me.

* * *

_  
Chapter Eight_

"Fifteen minutes…" Lisa sighed out of nowhere as they hurriedly searched the rest of the first floor.

"What?" Barry's patience was running even thinner than before. He was flinging open doors, hurriedly scanning each room and slamming the door shut in frustration.

"That's how long we have before the first bomb goes off."

"Yeah well…it's just the first. It probably won't do this old building any favors, but at least we'll still have time to find Rachel. Plus I just called for back-up. They should be here any time now."

"Good…and you know, this building's not that big. That's a plus."

"Well…" Barry checked his cell phone for the fifth time in the past minute. "That's part of the problem. It's not like they'd just stick her in a room where we'd very easily find her. There's gotta be another trap somewhere."

"Yeah…I guess you're right," Lisa reluctantly agreed. "It's probably just a matter of time before the other shoe drops."

The pair stepped into the second floor patient wing where a handful of rooms remained to be searched, as well as something else they weren't counting on, stampeding in their direction from the opposite end of the hall.

"Speaking of the other shoe, here it comes now," Lisa said.

"You!" Stanley Coleman approached them, out of breath from running, still clutching the gun he had mysteriously acquired. He eyed Lisa with intense hatred.

"I thought I told you to stay away from Rachel, you psycho," he snarled.

"I should be saying the same thing to you," Lisa shot back. "You'd better get the hell out while you still can, Stanley."

"No way. Not until I find her. I'm going to be the one to save her, not you two. At any rate, I think I have a better chance of finding her. I know this place inside and out. In fact, I might know where she is right now."

"You know where Rachel is?" Lisa had him by the collar now, practically throttling him as she shook him. "You'd better fucking tell us if you know something."

"Hey, get your hands off me, you crazy bitch!" Stanley broke loose and shoved her, sending her crashing into the wall behind her.

"Hey, stop this right now." Barry promptly subdued Stanley, putting an end to the debacle. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"You're right." Stanley straightened out his clothes. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever." Barry dragged a hand down his face. "She does have a point though, Stanley. If you know something, you've gotta help us out." That was when he noticed for the first time the rolled up paper that Stanley clutched. "What's that?"

Stanley looked down at the papers as if he'd forgotten he was holding them. "I…I found this in Ernest's office. You can look at it if you want."

Doubtfully Barry took it, a message in familiar flawless handwriting on crumpled notebook paper:

_I think it goes without saying that my previous messages were for Rachel's eyes only, but I cannot reach her now. I know that you are her only hope, so I will tell you what I know. Without going into too much detail, I know the events that will unfold here today. I can safely assure you that Rachel will not die, but someone has to. This fate, and the person whom it will befall, depends on your actions. I cannot intervene any further, but I trust you will know what to do._

"Rachel's stalker…" Barry breathed. "Whoever this is, they're in the hospital. They're here now."

"Stalker?" Lisa said, raising frightened eyes to him. "Who is this person?"

"We don't know. Whoever it is has been leaving anonymous letters for Rachel off and on for a week now. We can't trace 'em."

"You stupid asshole!" Lisa suddenly exploded, pummeling his chest with both fists. "That nut job could be the one who's behind all this, and you couldn't catch them? You're the worst cop ever!"

"Lisa…" He grumbled through clenched teeth as he restrained her, struggling with her for a moment before she surrendered. A moment later, the sound of a door opening nearby caught their attention.

"That'd better be McDaniel, and he'd better have a whole damn SWAT team with him…" Barry muttered as he stormed with Lisa in tow to the front reception area.

"Thank God…" he sighed when he spotted the middle-aged captain. "You're not gonna believe this. All of the patients and staff have disappeared and someone set up some bombs and there's a crazy guy running around here and he kidnapped Rachel and shot me in the hand and tied me up and locked me in a room but I'm okay now." He took a much-needed breath, and looked disgusted when McDaniel smiled.

"Well I drove through the fence outside but you don't hear me bragging," he said.

"Don't laugh! This isn't funny! Rachel's in trouble! Come on man, it's Rachel!"

"That's precisely why I'm not worried. It's Rachel we're talking about. That girl can fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose." As he spoke, McDaniel directed Barry to a bench by the door, where the detective reluctantly sat. "You already told me everything, remember? I've got everything under control. The bomb squad's on their way as we speak. We're gonna find her and get this taken care of, so you just relax."

Barry drew a shaky breath and fought back the tears that burned at the corner of his eyes. He kept his head down until he felt he had regained his composure, but his pulse skyrocketed once again when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang through the empty halls. His eyes shot up in time to see a spray of blood spew from McDaniel's back. Two more shots followed; both of which striking the captain in the back of the head. Barry shook himself out of his stupor long enough to lunge forward and catch him as he fell to his knees.

"Hank! Oh God…" Barry let the fatally wounded captain fall gently into a prone position. His body gradually went slack, and a fine trickle of blood dribbled from his mouth onto the floor. Barry sank weakly back onto the bench, clutching his head in his hands

"Where did those shots come from?" Lisa asked, sounding more like a seasoned officer than a former nurse. She peered around the corner, taking care to shield the majority of her body behind the wall as she did so.

"Hey…where's Stanley?"

Barry wearily raised his head, no longer concerned with hiding his grief. "What do you mean? He's been with us the whole time."

"Uh…no he hasn't. I haven't heard or even seen him since the patient wing back there. He's such a coward anyway, he probably ran off and hid somewhere."

"Okay, well, whatever. Right now our top priority is-"

Just then, a massive explosion emanated from above them, rattling the ceiling hard enough to send a fine mist of plaster dust raining down on them.

"Fuck…there goes the first one," Barry muttered, shielding his eyes from the dust. "Come on, we've gotta go." He grabbed Lisa by the wrist and started off in a random direction when the sound of his radio going off alerted him.

"Oh my God…Rachel? Rachel, it's Barry. Can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry…Miss Goren is a bit tied up right now," Ernest's voice crackled over the radio.

"Ernest! How did you…?"

"We've jacked the line," the director answered calmly.

"You killed him, didn't you?"

"If you're talking about that nuisance cop, I didn't kill him. I didn't even give the order. But I am breathing easier now that he is no longer breathing."

"Fucker. I'll be sure you're the next to go."

"How very interesting. Rachel and I will be right here waiting for you."

"Rachel! She's there with you?"

"Of course. But don't you worry. I'm taking good care of her for you. And I'll be certain to fill you in if any interesting developments arise."

"Fuck you! I'm gonna find her, and when I do your ass is _mine_!"

"I'll hold you to that. Now, intermission is over. On with the show."

"Bastard." Barry cut off the transmission and holstered the radio, grabbing Lisa by the wrist and pulling her to the elevator. "Come on, we've gotta hurry."

Just then, another hailstorm of gunfire caught their attention, this one seeming to come from somewhere outside.

"What the hell?" He quickly switched direction, nearly jerking Lisa's arm out of its socket in the process, and the two dashed out the front doors. There they bore witness to a handful of bomb squad members falling victim to a storm of bullets raining down from an unseen location.

"Get down!" Barry tackled Lisa to the ground, shielding her with his body until the gunshots halted. By this time all six of the men lay dead in the street.

"Sniper…?" He slowly stood up and kept moving as he scanned the roof of the building. There was no one to be seen.

"What are they doing?" Lisa asked, remaining where she was on the ground.

"I don't know, but if we don't keep moving we could be next. Come on, let's go back inside." He reached out to take her hand, and in doing so was struck swiftly in the neck by something.

"Ow! What the hell?" He swatted at his neck, sending something clattering to the steps.

"What is that? It's not a bullet." Lisa reached for it, and held up what looked like a small syringe.

"A tranquilizer dart?" Barry reached out to take it from her, and as he did so noticed that his vision was becoming blurry. He could barely see his own hand in front of his face.

"What's wrong?" Lisa's words sounded garbled in his ears, and he unconsciously staggered away from her as she tried to catch him.

"Barry? Barry, can you hear me? Don't leave me alone!" Her pleas echoed into oblivion, following him down as he collapsed to the ground.


	10. The Devil and Rachel Goren

"Are you sure they're dead? All of them? Well I guess he turned out to be useful after all, huh?"

Rachel was just starting to come to, and through the head-pounding haze that clouded her senses she was just barely able to make out this odd one-sided conversation. She blinked several times until the image of Ernest cowered in the corner talking on his cell phone came into view. He peered over his shoulder and, thinking quickly, she closed her eyes again, pretending to be unconscious still. She could not see what he was doing, but she could discern enough from his conversations with himself. She heard the conclusion of the phone conversation, followed by the sound of his approaching footsteps.

"The time is quickly approaching," he spoke quietly in her ear. "Soon I will truly be able to call you 'Saint Rachel'."

Thinking quickly, she slowly opened her eyes. "You can call me that now, if you like," she said in a low eerie voice, devoid of emotion.

Ernest jumped about a foot in the air. "But…you have to die first. It says so in 'Otherworld Laws.'"

Otherworld Laws…that name sounded oddly familiar to her, but she didn't concern herself with it at the moment. "You're only seeing my earthly form, remember? I can still do things for you here. But first I need you to do something for me."

He swallowed hard as he kneeled beside her. "Anything for you, My Lady."

She could barely suppress a giggle. "I need you to untie me."

"I…" He hesitated. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I…we…um…" He looked over his shoulder briefly, and then turned back to her, leaning in close. "We're being watched."

"Then turn off the camera."

Ernest squirmed a bit, alternating between her and the camera in the opposite corner. She leaned in so that his nose brushed hers when he turned back to her.

"Who has more authority? Me, or the person on the other side of that camera?"

"Uh…um…" Finally he relented. He walked to the opposite wall, where the control panel for the surveillance system was located. A few keypunches, and the red light on the camera went out.

"There, now wasn't that easy? What they don't know won't hurt them, after all."

Ernest laughed nervously and moved behind her, working to unbind her with trembling hands. Once she was free, she rose to her feet and turned to face him with an indiscernable grin.

"Mmm, that's better." She draped an arm over his shoulder. "What can I do to repay you?"

Ernest murmured a string of unintelligible words as she ran her hands slowly down his body, stopping just short of his very obvious arousal.

"I want to experience just one last taste of earthly pleasure before I join you in Paradise," she said, lowering her voice to a seductive rasp.

"Are you sure it's okay?" he asked.

"Does it matter? No one will find out…if you don't tell them, that is." One hand strayed to grasp him lightly through the fabric of his pants, eliciting a less-than-masculine "eep" from him, but she soon withdrew her hand.

"Please…don't stop…" he panted.

"I…I thought I saw something," she said.

"What?"

"I think the camera is back on."

He looked over his shoulder. "But I turned it off. See, the light's off."

"I could've sworn I saw it just then. Are you sure they can't turn it back on from where they are?"

"I…I don't know…" He looked again, the paranoia evident on his face.

"Will you check it please? It makes me nervous."

Ernest promptly complied, feverishly dashing back to the control panel, turning back to look at her only once. He occupied himself with it for several moments, while Rachel sneaked silently up behind him. He had had the forethought to remove her shoulder holster before tying her up, but he hadn't given any thought to the possibility that she would have a concealed weapon.

"Put your hands up," she said quietly.

"Eh…?" He froze on the spot but did not obey.

"Put them up now."

"Rachel…?" He was trembling visibly now, and slowly did as he was told. She chuckled.

"You men are all the same…gullible as hell." She pressed the barrel of the Beretta into the center of his back. "I think you've been had, Mr. Baldwin."

"Damn you!" he screamed. "You're evil! Why would the Archangel come back as such an evil woman?"

"Eh, maybe she's just a piss-poor judge of character."

"Bitch!" He whirled around, but she was way ahead of him. A well-timed kick to the chest sent the middle-aged man plowing into the wall. He slumped over, momentarily stunned, and a second later his skull met the cold hard stock of the Beretta. Right away Rachel darted for the rest of her gear, replacing her belt and immediately reaching for her radio.

"Barry? This is Rachel. Respond." Receiving no reply, she tried again. "Barry, can you hear me?" Still nothing.

"Shit." She gave up and went to work trying to find a way out. There was a rickety metal ladder near where she had been confined, which she climbed up to investigate, only to find that the passage was blocked off by something far too heavy to move one-handed, or possibly even two-handed. She remained where she was on the ladder, lost in thought and still disoriented by the ordeal, when she was suddenly grabbed from behind by the ankle and jerked to the floor, where she landed hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

"Now who's gullible?" Ernest snarled as he straddled her, pinning both her arms and her body to the floor.

"Fucker! Get off me!"

"Oh I'm not nearly done with you yet, my dear." With that, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a syringe, which she eyed in horror.

"What the hell is that?" Unable to fight back, she could only watch helplessly as he plunged the needle into her neck.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Her neck flared with pain as if a two-by-four had been shoved through it, as opposed to a tiny hypodermic needle. Soon, though, a disturbingly familiar lightheaded sensation crept over her, and through blurry eyes she saw Ernest reach in to tenderly brush the bangs out of her face.

"Good night, Miss Goren."

* * *

_The door that wakes in darkness, opening into nightmares…_

Some time later Rachel awoke, still groggy and disoriented. She was vaguely aware of the hard scuffed wood floor beneath her; her arm was pinned under her body and was asleep. Slowly she sat up, rubbing the glaze from her eyes in order to get a good look at her surroundings. Much to her shock, the small claustrophobic room she had become so accustomed to in the past few hours had transformed into a completely different type of hell. The rough unfinished concrete walls were stained crimson with rust-colored rivulets, as was the floor. The stale air was heavy with the unmistakable stench of death. Looking around some more, she found that the passage at the top of the ladder was now thankfully clear, but in the process of looking in that direction, she saw something even more disturbing.

"What the fuck…" Slumped against the wall near the ladder was the body of a man, most definitely dead. From the looks of it, the death was not a quick and painless one, either. Rachel's eyes started at his feet and moved slowly up his ravaged body. His ankles and knees had clearly been shattered, perhaps to prevent escape. Moving on, she saw that the crotch of his pants had been ripped away, revealing a bloody, pulpy, indiscernable mass of flesh beneath. It almost looked as though his entire groin had been forcibly ripped from his body. As seasoned as she was, she felt more than a little queasy upon seeing this. But it was the next sight that pushed the envelope too far for her. His face was mangled beyond any recognition, seeming to have received the most sadistic treatment of all. His jaw was grossly deformed, as if he'd been struck in the mouth with tremendous force. But perhaps the most unsettling sight of all was of his eyes. They were still open, frozen in a perpetual look of terror, and were kept that way by a dozen small needles protruding from each one. His eyelids, too, had been pinned open, as if whoever had done this to him had intended for him to see one final thing before his death.

"Holy shit…" With this, Rachel had seen enough. She turned away and promptly vomited on the floor, retching violently for several moments. Once she recovered, she could not get away from the morbid scene fast enough, scrambling up the metal ladder with what little strength she had left. Once she reached the top she allowed herself to collapse to the floor, only to discover it wasn't a floor at all. It appeared to be a rusty metal grating of some kind, offering a view of a pitch-dark abyss on the other side.

"Where the hell am I…?" Rachel asked herself. Something told her she was a long way from Brookhaven, but at the same time the same air could be felt about the place. It seemed familiar somehow. She didn't spend a great deal of time standing around arguing with herself over it; her only concern now was finding Barry and getting the hell out.

_Barry…_

What the hell made her think she would find him here? Wishful thinking? At any rate, she wasn't ruling the possibility out. She continued down the surreal corridor, lined on both sides by rusty walls, her boots landing with a metallic echo on the grated floor. The hall seemed to go on forever, and she picked up the pace, gradually crescendoing into a full sprint. Just before she was ready to collapse from exhaustion, the passage came to an abrupt end at a door. She had never been so grateful to see a door in all her life, but part of her was apprehensive as to what might be on the other side. Seeing as how she had few other options, however, she pressed on, not even bothering to steel herself for whatever might await on the other side. As she soon discovered, nothing could prepare her for what she was about to see.

"What the hell…" She had said the words so often by this time they had lost all meaning, but there were no other words to describe what she was now confronted with. She found herself standing in the living room of her aunt and uncle's house in South Vale, just as she remembered it from when she was a kid. Still unsure if what she was seeing was real or not, she wandered around the room hypnotically, touching every piece of furniture, the walls, everything. It was all very real, as was the sight of a strange man

standing in the adjoining kitchen. His back was turned to her; all she could see was the solid black curtain of his trenchcoat, and the wide-brimmed black hat on his head that effectively concealed his features from view. In fact, she couldn't even be certain it was a man, aside from his height and the telltale width of his shoulders.

"Hey! Who are you?" she demanded, but received no reply. The man didn't even move to acknowledge her presence. She slowly advanced, drawing her gun.

"Police. Put your hands where I can see them."

He did not obey; instead, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out something which he lay on the kitchen counter beside him, but he did not remove his hand from it.

"Put your hands up! Step away!" she demanded, louder than before. Still he did not do as he was told, instead walking toward the door that lead to the laundry room. Strangely enough, he did not make it any further than that door, vanishing into thin air as soon as he crossed the threshold. She blinked several times and ran forward, groping the air where he had stood. The only thing that remained to indicate he had been there at all was a small plastic bag on the counter. She sheathed her weapon and held the bag before her face, closely examining the white residue inside. It crunched between her fingers like a fine sand.

"Drugs…?" she pondered aloud. As soon as the word left her mouth, a sudden excruciating pain ripped through her skull like an axe, bringing her to her knees in agony. Her field of vision filled with a blood-red light, and a horrid screeching noise, like someone was running their fingernails over a chalkboard right next to her ear, prompted her to clamp her hands to the sides of her head and clamp her eyes shut. She screamed; anything to block out the merciless assault on her senses. A moment later, her cries filled a silent room. She opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor in the kitchen, or at least a place that somewhat resembled the kitchen in her former home. The place seemed to have aged a hundred years since she had seen it last, though in reality it had been only a couple of minutes. The whole place looked like a grainy black and white photograph of an old abandoned house; the wallpaper had all but crumbled away, exposing rotten wood panels underneath, and the furniture and floors weren't in much better shape. She would have guessed the house had not been occupied for decades, but the sound of voices from somewhere nearby disproved this theory. She followed the sound from the kitchen into the living room, and then into the back hall, eventually tracking down its source in one of the rooms there. The room was as decrepit as the rest of the house, and completely bare save for a few tattered photos hanging on the wall, and a large floor-length mirror that filled one wall. From the hall, Rachel could see her aunt Alexia in the mirror and, much to her shock, that strange man in black she had seen earlier. Once again his back was turned so that his face could not be seen in the mirror. Rachel drew her gun and remained out of sight as she eavesdropped on them.

"What were you thinking? You could have killed her!" Alexia shrieked, her voice louder and angrier than Rachel had ever heard from the mild-mannered woman. The mystery man remained where he was, unmoving.

"You probably thought I'd never find out, didn't you? Or else you figured if I did find out, I wouldn't do anything about it. You thought I'd back off, or I just wouldn't understand. Well I understand everything. I know about that drug. It's PTV, that drug they've been talking about in the news. It's killed dozens of people, and it could've killed Rachel!"

"PTV…?" Rachel was familiar with the buzz around the station about a mysterious drug that had been circulating among tourists in the town from an unknown source. She waited for the man's response, but still he remained silent. Meanwhile, Alexia was becoming enraged.

"I know about that 'religious group' too. Religious group my ass…you're just a bunch of damn drug dealers and murderers! And I will turn you in, the whole bloody lot of you. And I'll-"

Her rant was cut short by a sharp backhand to the face that sent the slightly built woman reeling into the mirror behind her. There she slumped to the floor, hands before her face in anticipation of another strike. It did come, but in the form of a heavy booted foot to the shins, causing her to lower her hands from her face to her legs, allowing him to land a couple good hard kicks to her head and chest. She collapsed to the floor, covering her battered face and sobbing. Once she shook herself out of her stupor, Rachel could no longer stand idly by. She charged into the room, pistol drawn.

"Police! Put your hands up!"

The man froze on the spot but did not obey. He remained where he was, with his back turned to her. Alexia wept on the floor, seeming to take no notice of her niece who had come to her rescue. Not that Rachel was doing a very good job, as the mystery attacker took the opportunity to land one more good hard kick Tears welled in the corners of Rachel's eyes, but she fought them back.

"I said put your hands up!"

Still receiving no cooperation, she drew her stun gun and charged him. She didn't get within a foot of him before he lashed back with one arm, which struck her in the face with enough force to send her flying backwards into the wall, where she lay stunned for several moments. By the time she recovered, Alexia and the mysterious man in black were gone. Rachel remained where she was on the floor, licking her lips and noting the acrid metallic taste of blood. It was then that she noticed her reflection in the grimy mirror on the opposite side of the room. She could barely make out a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, and moved closer to the mirror to get a better look. Upon doing so, she was startled to see how sickly she looked. The dim glow from filth-encrusted light fixtures didn't help much, but there was no mistaking that she looked as bad as she felt. Her skin was unnaturally pale, in stark contrast to the dark circles that formed under her eyes and the half-congealed rivulet of blood that seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her head felt as though it was going to explode. Every muscle in her body ached with fatigue. She could barely support her own weight, and finally just allowed herself to collapse face-first against the mirror, pressing her sweaty forehead against the cool glass.

"What the fuck…?" It was then that she became aware of the sensation of hot liquid running down her face; her upper lip to be specific. She raised a hand to swipe at it, and was stunned to look down to see blood on her fingers. Her eyes shot back to the mirror to see a steady trickle of blood oozing from her nose.

"Nosebleed…" she muttered. She could not remember ever having one of those in her life, despite her heavy smoking. She dabbed at the blood and held an index finger along the bottom of her nose, when she noticed another well of blood springing up, this one from an unseen wound on her face. Her other hand shot up to wipe it away.

"What the fuck is happening to me?" As soon as she said this, two more trails of blood crept down her face from somewhere just around her hairline. She swiped them away before they could get into her eyes, but two more followed those, and then two more, until her bangs were soaked with blood and her vision was obscured. Through the pink haze she saw her entire face consumed with gore, which spread to her hands and flowed down her forearms like water. She watched the horrific transformation in the mirror, both of herself and eventually of the room around her. Soon the walls began oozing blood, dozens of tiny blood trails snaking their way from the baseboards and crawling up the walls, forming a grisly web-like pattern on every surface in the room. Before long the headache edged its way back into her consciousness, filling her entire being with debilitating pain. She collapsed on her side on the floor in front of the mirror, too weak to do anything else. Just before she let herself fall unconscious again, she saw something through the blur of exhausted tears; an ominous message formed in the blood on the wall:

_Get ready to go to HELL…_


	11. Lust

Hi all. I apologize for the long hiatus (read: my slacker time) but I am back with a new addition. Actually, scratch that. I have been doing things, i.e. preparing to move andgetting settled in my new job with the probation department, so I have an excuse, hehe! Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

"Rachel…Rachel, is that you? I'm over here…"

Through a semi-conscious fog, Barry was aware that he was talking, though he wasn't sure to whom. As he slowly awakened, he heard footsteps-or at least he thought he did. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was, in fact, alone. He discerned that he was lying on the floor, and as he gathered his bearings, he found it was the floor just inside the front entrance to the hospital. Slowly the events were coming back to him. He was outside with Lisa when a hailstorm of bullets began raining down on them from an unseen location. One of the bullets met its mark. Not a bullet…a tranquilizer dart. He lost consciousness. He didn't know what happened to Lisa. She wasn't anywhere to be seen now. He didn't have time to worry about her though. His first concern was finding Rachel and-

_BOOM._

"Shit!" He instinctively hit the floor once again at the sound of the distant explosion, and the consequent tremor. He had lost track of the bombs. It could be the second…or the third. Time was ticking, that was the only thing that was certain. He forgot where he was; lost track of where they had already searched…

"Second floor!" he blurted out to no one in particular. He darted for the stairs, only to find he had gone the wrong way. After several hits and misses he found the door to the stairwell, and made tracks to the second floor.

As soon as he set foot on the second floor, the first thing that stood out to him was the oppressive heat of the air. It seemed to have risen ten degrees from that of the first floor. He pushed up his sleeves, which were already rolled up partway, and continued aimlessly down the corridor, when a faint noise from the opposite direction caught his attention. It had to have come from the general direction of the patient wing, and he heedlessly flung himself through the double doors into the hall there.

"What the hell?" Darkness was all that greeted him there; the only light that remained to navigate by was the intermittent glow of a flickering fluorescent light overhead. He crept down the hall without a sound, one hand hovering over the gun holster at his belt, prepared for anything. It seemed he wasn't prepared to be suddenly pulled by his arm into the elevator, though, as all he could do when this happened was to utter a surprised shriek.

"Rachel?"

The wayward detective smiled, leaning lazily against the wall while one hand crept down to hit the Close button on the keypad. Barry jumped as the doors slid home behind him, barely missing him.

"You're late. Where the hell have you been?"

"I…I…" He was too stunned to respond. "I was looking for you…"

"Figures. I've been here for hours waiting for your stupid ass."

"I'm sorry, okay? Come on, we've gotta get outta here. This place is-"

"What's the hurry? I thought we'd stay here a while longer."

"What…?" He stared dumbly at her. "But…this place is filthy and disgusting. You hate it here. And it's dangerous too. Come on, let's go."

She smiled again and grabbed hold of his collar with both hands, pulling him closer to her so that he was practically pinning her to the wall. "I think you'll want to stay."

Barry was completely confused now, but made no effort to move away. "W…what's gotten into you? Getting all friendly all of a sudden…"

"Is that a complaint?"

Barry swallowed hard as her hands moved from his collar to his shoulders, traveling slowly over them to meet behind his neck, pulling him even closer so that their faces were inches apart. He would be lying to himself if he said he had never fantasized about something like this. An elevator was ideal; close quarters, bodies pressed together against the wall, sweat slicking their skin, one hand tangled in her hair while the other snaked around her waist, his mouth consuming hers hungrily while that small part of his brain that was still able to think rationally hoped like hell that no one pressed that call button outside…

"Mmm…" Any complaint that he could have offered was forgotten when her lips captured his. Right away he knew something was off; the Rachel he knew did not do things like this. It did not take long for this thought to be pushed to the back of his mind, though, as the autopilot kicked in and he just did what came natural. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her away from the wall, allowing him to fully embrace her. His hands traveled lightly up her back, feeling the heat and sweat of her skin under her shirt. After a time they mutually broke the kiss, both struggling for breath. Unable to look her in the eye, Barry lowered his face to rest in the crook of her neck. She smelled of smoke and nervous sweat and the musty air of the hospital, and he drew the scent in with each deep breath. He felt dirty for liking it.

"What's wrong?" she whispered in his ear, her voice dipping lower to an even huskier, more seductive octave.

"Rachel, I…I can't do this. It's wrong." He almost regretted saying this, but then he forced himself to look her in the eye. It was wrong. He couldn't do this to her. He couldn't take her this way, in an elevator in a run-down mental hospital like some depraved teenager looking for a sick thrill. She meant more to him than that…only she didn't know. Her next words drove this point home perfectly.

"I know it's wrong. Not to mention it's pretty fucked up. But everything that's happened to us has been fucked up, so that's a good enough excuse, don't you think? It's just to take our minds off everything that's happened, you know? It doesn't have to mean anything."

"No!" he blurted out, surprising them both. "I don't want…I mean…I do want it…it's just that…"

She nodded quickly, a flush of pink spreading across the bridge of her nose as she raised an awkward hand to the back of her head. "Whatever. I get it. I guess I just assumed…you know, because you make all kinds of comments."

Now the guilt set in; he knew it was only a matter of time. "You didn't let me finish. I do want to…just not here. Not now."

"Why?"

"Because…because…" _Because I love you. _He had said the words in his mind countless times, but he couldn't get his mouth to cooperate. He just kept hoping that she could tell, but sometimes he had to wonder if she even had the capacity to comprehend it. Romance had never been even a remote thought for the career-minded woman. Not to mention she was moody and stubborn, and most likely would go stir-crazy being tied down in a relationship. This was what he told himself all the time, but in reality he was just making excuses; he was aware of this.

"What the hell…?" The barely audible sound of the elevator starting up caught his attention. "I think the elevator's moving!"

"Don't change the subject," Rachel snarled, her features shadowed by a black rage unlike anything he'd seen before. "Why, Barry? You want this, don't you fucking lie and say you don't. So why don't you just fucking do it?"

Thankfully the elevator came to a stop at that moment, creating a momentary distraction-or so he'd hoped. It seemed she would not budge until she got an answer. She stood in the doorway with arms crossed, glaring daggers at him for an unbearable length of time before she finally scoffed, reaching into her pocket for a cigarette.

"Well, whatever," she said as she lit up. "I'll leave you here to think about it. I'm not in the mood anymore anyway."

"Rachel…" He watched as she strode down a darkened corridor, blowing smoke indignantly at the ceiling as she went. Barry took a couple steps backwards and fell back against the wall of the elevator, where he sank to the floor in defeat. He hung his head, dabbing at eyes that were already red from crying. He had resolved some time ago to tell her how he felt, but only when the opportunity came. It was only appropriate that it would come at the worst possible time. And, tragically ironic as it was, it seemed this was the time. He always knew, as much as he hated to think about it, that something might happen to one of them before he got the chance, and he had the unsettling feeling that one of them would not be leaving this place alive. He had to do something before it was too late. As fitting as it would be, he did not want his soul-baring confession to double as a deathbed proclamation.

"Okay…gotta do this thing…" Taking a deep breath as he rose to his feet, Barry stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor. He followed it for some time, lost in thought, and only when he refocused his attention on the task at hand did he become aware of the strangeness of the situation. The hallway became darker and even more claustrophobic the further he progressed. There were no doors to punctuate the monotony of the scenery; only ancient-looking light fixtures mounted in the shabby mishmash of brick and concrete of the walls that ended at the ceiling, which was nothing more than a tangled maze of rusted and dripping pipes. As unlikely as it was, it almost seemed that this place was not connected to the hospital at all, but at this point he was not counting anything out. Just when he was starting to think he was walking straight into a bottomless pit, the passage came to an abrupt halt at a door, which he almost ran into as he gazed all around. Without hesitation he barged through.

"Oh my God…" Barry's jaw dropped in complete bewilderment as he found himself standing in the lobby of the police station. After a moment of staring dumbly at the bronze SHPD insignia on the front of the reception desk, he stumbled clumsily around the room, examining everything to ascertain that what he was seeing was indeed real. He never imagined that the station, located in a section of town at least five miles from South Vale, could be attached so closely to the hospital, but the evidence was surely proving that. It did not explain, however, how a very old, hidden underground passage managed to surface right at the front door to the station. He was pondering this when a noise from somewhere nearby caught his attention.

"Who's there?" He crept over to the door to the left of the reception desk, the office of their recently deceased captain. He swallowed back tears at the all-too-recent memory, until he spotted something that really gave him a reason to cry.

_Capt. Tim Cavanaugh, _the gilded nameplate proclaimed. Barry stared slack-jawed at it until his eyes ached, but the afterimage remained burned on the backs of his eyelids when he closed them. Cavanaugh, that smug, womanizing bastard did not last long with the SHPD, and with good reason. A group of drug dealers walked free due to his gross negligence, following closely on the heels of a near-catastrophic shootout between the police and said criminals. Cavanaugh resigned and then disappeared without a trace soon after, but not before Barry learned of his affair with Rachel. As long as he lived he would never forget that day. He returned to the station after his shift to retreive the spare house key he'd left in his desk, when he heard a ruckus ensuing from the captain's office. He opened the door just enough to poke his head inside when he was confronted with the image of _them…_on the desk, of all places. Surely she wasn't enjoying it…how could she? How could she like being sprawled on her back on a cluttered desk, with a man they all despised, to boot. How could she even do it in the first place?

_How could she…? _Barry felt his jaws lock and his fists clench with rage as he remembered, and caught himself. He was angry at the wrong person, even if it had only been for a split second. She was obviously drunk. That bastard had probably planned it all along. After all, it couldn't have been a coincidence that she was promoted to detective the very next day. It was very fortunate that Rachel was more than qualified for her new position, because if he had set her up for humiliation, Barry swore he would kill the fucker himself. But it didn't come to that. It was probably for the best, but it did not ease the pain, the thought that something even worse could have happened. Maybe it did happen, and he just stood idly by and did nothing. That memory was the source of many a "what if" question that woke him in the middle of the night.

"Did you just hear something?" a male voice spoke from behind the door, and Barry jumped. He turned to run, but he was too slow. He felt as though he was moving on leaden feet when the door opened behind him.

"Oh, it's just Barry," a female voice said.

"Rachel!" Barry blurted awkwardly, spinning around to face her and almost knocking her flat in the process. The inscrutable smile on her face instantly filled him with a disheartening self-consciousness. The view over her shoulder did little to ease this.

"Barry, how the hell are ya?" Tim Cavanaugh's loud, overly friendly voice boomed. Barry bit his cheeks and smiled in spite of himself.

"What're you guys still doing here?" he asked, feeling even more foolish with each passing moment.

"Happy hour, man," Cavanaugh answered as he filled a glass from the half-empty bottle of whiskey on his desk, which he handed to Rachel before he poured another for himself. "Why don't you join us?"

"Um…no thanks." _You fucking coward. Why are you being nice to him? You hate him, remember? _His mind screamed at him, but still he just stood there like an idiot. Of course, there was still the question of how and why he was here, apparently back in the position of captain after being missing and presumed dead for several years, not to mention all the other weird shit that had happened up to this point. He felt as though his head was going to explode.

"Barry, what's up? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Rachel said as she lit a cigarette. From the near-overflowing ashtray on the desk, Barry could easily conclude that she had been here awhile; on the other hand, though, it was hard to tell with her. One cigarette soon turned to ten with her.

"Um, well, I…" He took a step to the side so that her head was blocking his view of that irritating man, and lowered his voice as he spoke to her. "Rachel, did you…notice anything weird on your way here?" That alone sounded so strange that he hoped he wouldn't have to explain, but he couldn't be that lucky.

"Well I did see a guy arguing with a stop sign, but that's not really weird, considering we do have a second-tier mental hospital right here in town," she said.

"No…" He rolled his eyes; he should have expected that she would react to mind-bending shifts in reality with smart-ass remarks. "Rachel…do you know anything about…some other world? Like an alternate reality?"

"Alternate reality?" She pondered as she took a drag. "Nope…can't say I do. Honestly…can't say…I do."

"What? Then how…?"

She looked at him strangely. "Barry, honey, did something happen to you?"

"Yes, something did happen to me." He no longer cared about looking crazy; he figured he would have to be at this point. "Ever since we got separated back there at the hospital, a lot of really weird stuff has been happening."

"Hospital…?" Her apparent case of amnesia was troubling, to say the least. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been here all day. I just got off work, to be exact. Where the hell have you been?"

"I wouldn't worry about it Rach, it's probably just a senior moment," Cavanaugh chimed in, and Barry could not resist the urge to flash him a choice gesture, which he unfortunately seemed to ignore.

"What did Ernest do to you?" he almost screamed, grabbing her by her shoulders, a sharp pain in his left hand reminding him of the incident that started it all. "Why don't you remember?"

She slowly backed toward the desk, reaching for the whiskey bottle en route and filling up her empty glass. "Here, Barry, I think you need this more than me."

He stared at it, but as tempting as it was, he forced himself to decline. "No, what I need is answers. I wanna know what the fuck is going on here." His eyes drifted to Cavanaugh, who was now covering his mouth with one hand in a half-assed attempt to hide the fact that he was giggling like an idiot. "I wanna know what the fuck you're doing here."

"Uh…" Cavanaugh shifted his eyes to the side, obviously still stifling a snicker. "I work here? Is that a good enough excuse?"

"What…? But you got…but you don't…"

"Look, just give it up already, old man. It's not my fault you got passed over for a promotion so many times. Wife divorced you, can't get a woman to save your life. That's all you, man." As he spoke, he rose from his desk and approached Barry menacingly, standing face to face with the elder detective. "Let's get one thing straight, old timer. This is my house. Don't ever forget that."

"Okay, I think I've had enough drama for today," Rachel interrupted. "Fuck it, let's go drink some more."

"Good idea." Cavanaugh reached over and grabbed her hand, shouldering Barry aside en route to the door, though he didn't quite make it that far.

"Don't you walk out of here. I'm not done yet," Barry said, planting a hand in the center of the captain's broad chest.

"What, you wanna join us? Aren't you due back at the nursing home soon?"

Rachel burst out laughing at this-her familiar drunk laugh, but that did not make it sting any less. Barry swallowed hard.

"Whatever. I'm leaving, but I'm taking Rachel with me."

Cavanaugh scoffed. "Sorry, but I don't think she's into the geriatric scene. Now if you'll excuse us…" With that, he succeeded in clearing a path to the door, and Barry stood by helplessly and watched the pair leave. He sank into the chair next to the desk and clutched his head in his hands, breathing hard to drown out the sounds of laughter still in his head. Laughing. They were still laughing at him. More importantly, _she _was laughing at him. The one person who had never laughed at him…or so he thought. Maybe she had been all this time and he just didn't realize it. The more he thought about it, the more it came together. Surely she was mocking him with all the jokes she told, the comments she made…even when she kissed him in the elevator. Especially then. It was only fitting, though. Everyone else did, so why not her too?

"How could you…Rachel…"


	12. Outside Looking In

Hi again! I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review my story, I really appreciate all the feedback!Also, I want to apologize for thelong hiatus between updates. As of late my life has become even more eventful than Rachel's, so I gave her an extended vacation. She returned from Vegas broke, hungover, and with a bad attitude, but nonetheless we're back! Enjoy!

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Rachel awoke yet again. She had done that so many times in the past few hours that she could no longer distinguish what was a dream and what was not. She would do well to assume that everything she had seen today was a dream. It was all just too unreal. That being said, she did just that when she sat up to find that she was now lying on the floor of her aunt and uncle's bedroom, which had apparently reverted back to its normal form from the nightmarish appearance it had taken on when she last saw it. As a matter of fact, it looked as though it had not been touched in twenty years. The furniture and color scheme were very 70's, right down to the lime-green shag carpet and hideous matching leather chair in the corner.

"Well, they never were ones to keep up with fashion trends," she mused aloud as she continued into the hallway, where a similar décor awaited her. The dark wood-panel walls were adorned with assorted yard sale artwork, including a handful of framed pieces containing verses from the Bible. Rachel studied them with mixed emotions. Her aunt had always been very religious, while her uncle seemed to have no opinion on the matter whatsoever. She herself had never really been into religion too much; she had had one too many prayer go unanswered for that. Only now did she feel guilty for feeling that way, though.

"Okay, I could do without this…" She continued down the hall, peering inside each room and confronting the bittersweet memories contained in each one. At the end of the hall, two final rooms awaited her exploring eyes, one of which, the bathroom door, was closed and apparently locked. She could not remember that door ever having been locked; her uncle had even taken the extra measure of taping the lock button down when she was a child so she could not lock herself inside. She stared bewildered at the doorknob for a time before turning back, when she caught a glimpse inside the room across the hall; her old childhood bedroom. Strangely enough, it looked as though it had not been touched in twenty years. Everything-the bed, furniture, even the clothes in the closet, were all child-sized. These things had certainly not been here when she left for college, but then again, she did not put it past her aunt to completely refurnish the room in such a sentimental fashion. One thing that she saw, however, did not fit into the scheme.

"What's this…?" On the bedside dresser was a well-worn textbook entitled _Elements of Criminal Investigation_. She remembered this book well from her college days. She had sat for hours and read every chapter in it, well beyond the current class assignment. With a nostalgic smile she picked up the book and opened the front cover. On the inside of the cover was a hand-written note:

_Rachel,_

_Best of luck at the university! I love you as if you were my real sister. Here's to you!_

_Claudia_

"Claudia…?" She had no idea why, but that name sounded so familiar. She stood there and stared at the writing until it all blurred together into one large dark blob on the white page. All of a sudden, she was distracted by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She checked the caller ID. Much to her shock, it was her aunt and uncle's old phone number. In other words, whoever was calling her was inside the house right now. Doubtfully she answered, "…Hello?"

"Rachel…" a small, timid child's voice whimpered.

"Who is this?"

"Hurry, Rachel. We c…rt w…out…ou. Th…ri…l…nning…" The entire message was obscured by a loud static interference that eventually cut off the transmission. Alarmed, Rachel switched off the phone and stood for several moments, staring blankly at the wall. After a time something posessed her to walk into the hall outside. She didn't even draw her weapon this time; she didn't sense any danger. She looked down one end of the hall and then down the other, where she saw something even more unexpected. At the opposite end of the hall near the stairs stood a small girl, no older than 7. The most outstanding feature about her was her skin-she was so pale she almost looked translucent, like a ghost, with hair to match. She wore a black, somewhat antiquated dress that accentuated her fair features. Unsure of what else to do, Rachel approached her.

"Hi," she said awkwardly, kneeling beside her. "What's your name?"

The girl looked at her with eyes almost as colorless as her skin, but said nothing. She didn't have to say anything; Rachel was almost certain of the answer.

"You're Claudia, aren't you?"

In a very deliberate motion, the girl looked away from her and down the stairs, which she descended, and Rachel followed after her. Upon reaching the first floor, she saw him again, that mysterious black-clad man standing in the middle of the living room, facing away from her as always.

"You!" she shouted. "Get the hell out of my house!"

The man remained silent, and held out a hand to his side, which the small girl immediately scampered over to take hold of, and the pair walked to the open front door. Rachel drew her weapon.

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

The man and the girl proceeded to walk outside and in the direction of Alexia's car, an old silver Towncar that was parked on the street. During the arrangements following her aunt's death, Rachel had debated what she would do with it. One thing she was certain of though, she would be damned if this guy was going to get anywhere near any of her aunt's belongings. The man led the girl to the passenger side door of the car, and Rachel raised her gun. She had numerous qualms about shooting a person in front of a child, but this was an extreme circumstance.

"Bastard!" A single gunshot rang through the empty street, and a spattering of tattered black fabric burst outward as the bullet struck him in the back. The man, however, did not even flinch, nor did the child, and the pair got in the car. As it pulled away from the curb, a frantic Rachel raised her gun again and fired off several wild shots at the car in a vain attempt to pop its tires. She kept firing even as it disappeared around the corner until the hollow _click _of the empty clip prompted her to fall defeatedly to her knees on the sidewalk. The empty magazine fell from her pistol to the concrete, and soon she joined it, curling up in a ball on the ground and staring into nothingness, too weak to do much else.

She figured she must have fallen asleep-or passed out from exhaustion-when she awoke later to find that it was now after dark. Not only that, a dense fog had settled in, as had an unseasonably chill breeze. Rachel got to her feet and turned to the house, which was unlit and barely stood out against the gloomy backdrop. It didn't even look the same, but she reminded herself that no one lived there now. That was until she noticed a light go on in an upstairs window, the bathroom window to be more specific. Recovering quickly from her fatigue, she dashed to the front door and nearly dislocated her shoulder yanking on it, only to find it locked. Thinking quickly, she sprinted the perimeter of the house, checking each first floor window only to find they were all shut as well. That was when she spotted the trellis that ascended the side of the house, directly up to the bathroom window. Without hesitation she started to scale it, not particularly concerned that the weathered wood might not be able to support her weight for very long. Once she reached the window, she peered inside cautiously, only to see something that shocked her so badly she nearly fell backwards.

"Aunt Alexia?" Indeed her beloved late aunt was apparently alive and well, and preparing for a bath. Rachel watched befuddled as she drew the bath water and took off her robe, hanging it on the doorknob before returning to the tub. Painstakingly she added bubble bath to the water, unaware that she was being watched-by someone other than Rachel as well. Rachel gasped silently when she saw the man in black enter the room. It was the first time she had seen him face to face-so to speak, as his face consisted of a black void beneath the brim of his hat. Without a sound he reached inside his trench coat, pulling out a large crescent wrench as he crept up behind Alexia.

"No! Get out!" Rachel's scream went unnoticed by both parties, and she watched helplessly as the man struck the woman in the head full force with the wrench. She fell forward and landed face first in the water, sending sudsy water flying everywhere. Some of it splattered on the window, but Rachel still had a painfully clear view of what happened next. Alexia raised herself up out of the water, looking stunned and then terrified when she saw the crimson-hued water she had surfaced from. She felt of the back of her head, only to quickly withdraw a bloody hand from a gaping blunt-force wound. She started to turn around when she was halted by a towel wrapped around her throat from behind, twisted increasingly tight as she struggled against her attacker. Her struggles soon subsided, and she surrendered to the immobility of unconsciousness-or possibly death. Calm as always, the mysterious man concluded by hoisting the inert woman into the tub, dropping her with a callous _splash._ Then he raised his faceless head to the window, where Rachel was still in plain view. She clung for dear life to the trellis as he reached over to raise the window.

"Who are you…?" she whispered, choked by barely contained rage. "Tell me, you son of a bitch!"

The man hesitated for several heart-pounding seconds. His eventual response was to lower his head and remove his hat, revealing a head of unremarkable light brown hair. It was only when he raised his head that she received the biggest shock yet.

"Oh my God…Uncle Leonard…?"

The old man smiled, a cold, disturbing smile. "How nice of you to _drop _by, Rachel Lynne." With that, he calmly reached out the window and gave the trellis a push. The weakened wood easily snapped away from its fasteners and fell away from the house, taking Rachel with it. Fortunately her brain shut down before she hit the ground.


End file.
